Saturday Poetry

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!
~William Wordsworth, Ode to Immortality