Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood" by William WordsworthOur birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,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 comeFrom God, who is our home:Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

The youth, who daily farther from the eastMust travel, still is Nature's priest.And by the vision splendidIs on his way attended:At length the man perceives it die away,And fade into the light of common day.Shades of the prison-house begin to closeUpon the growing Boy,But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,He sees it in his joy;