From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone
Then-in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life-was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain
From the red cliff of the mountain
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by
From the thunder and the storm
And the cloud that took the form
When the rest of Heaven was blue
Of a demon in my view...