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 lov`d, i lov`d alone.
then - in my childhood - in the dawn
of a most stormy life - was drawn
from ev`ry 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 roll`d
in it`s autumn tint of gold -
from the lightning in the sky
as it pass`d me flying by -
from the thunder and the storm,
and the cloud that took the form
(when the rest of heavens was blue)
of a demon in my view.