|UR birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The soul that rises with us, our life's
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar:
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God who is our home:
Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
Shades of the prison-house begin to close
Upon the growing boy;
But he beholds the light, and whence it flows-
He sees it in his joy;
The youth who daily further from the east
Must travel, still is Nature's priest,
And by the vision splendid
At length the man perceives it die away,
And fade into the light of common day.