Friday, March 13, 2009

This runs through my head lately.

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....

(Wordsworth, "Intimations of Immortality")

1 comments:

My Other Blog said...

What was the poem that you wrote for the contest?