A CHILD

Our 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 come
From God, who is our home.

Whither is fled the visionary gleam?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

~ William Wordsworth
Ode. Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood