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:     

rom 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.