Image by Lisa HallerOur 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.
William Wordsworth
Written on a 3x5 card 30 years ago.
Found as I cleaned out my desk.
Hearing a tiny voice in the back of
the drawer, I unearthed it again.
Glenn
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