From childhoods 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 that binds me still-
from the stars that round me rolled,
in their 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 heavan was blue)
of a demon in my view.