To Chandler Warnick

Ode: Intimations Of Immortality From Recollections Of Early Childhood
by Bro. William Wordsworth

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
The earth, and every common sight,
To me did seem
Apparelled in celestial light,
The glory and the freshness of a dream.
It is not now as it hath been of yore;--
Turn wheresoe'er I may,
By night or day,
The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

The Rainbow comes and goes,
And lovely is the Rose,
The Moon doth with delight
Look round her when the heavens are bare,
Waters on a starry night
Are beautiful and fair;
The sunshine is a glorious birth;
But yet I know, where'er I go,
That there hath past away a glory from the earth.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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!


Chan said...

Okay, honestly, people need to start signing posts. Who is this? Whoever you are, your poem is alright. "Come" and "home" don't actually rhyme, though, and the title is little windy.

Leanna said...

I didn't post the blog, but you're kidding me. Aren't you, Chan?

Sky said...

Ha ha. Of course he's kidding though I'd hate to ever explain his type of humor to anyone. It's off the wall. Stop making me laugh, Chan. I have a bad headache.

Matthew R. Hall, Esq. said...

Well, what you can do is look at the Comments page, and then click "Show Original Post" to see who posted it.

Sky said...

Hey, I promise I did not post this poem. Honestly. Sis Morgan