This is one of my favorite stanzas (V) from Wordsworth’s romanticized poem, better known as “Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood.” This poetic paragraph takes for granted a biblical (or Platonic) pre-existence, which mourns the loss of a child’s vision of an ideal world fading away “into the light of common day,” in what feels like a Hebrew prayer:
Our birth is but a sleep and 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 farthest 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.