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.