from: 536. Ode: "Intimations of Immortality" by William Wordsworth (1770-1850) -- Part 2

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:
       Heaven lies about us in our infancy!
       Shades of the prison-house begin to close
           Upon the growing Boy,
       But He beholds the light, and whence it flows,
           He sees it in his joy;
       The Youth, who daily farther from the east
           Must travel, still is Nature's Priest,
           And by the vision splendid
           Is on his way attended;
       At length the Man perceives it die away,
       And fade into the light of common day.