Move along these shades in gentleness of heart; with gentle hand Touch - for there is a spirit in the woods...

- But there's a tree, of my one,
A single field which I have looked upon,
Bot of them speak of something that is gone;
The pansy at my feet
Doth the same tale repeat:
Whither is fled the visionary gleam ?
Where is it now, the glory and the dream ?

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;
Heavens 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 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.