From childhood's hour, I have not been. As others were, I have not seen. As others, I could not bring. My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken, my sorrow, I could not awaken. My heart to joy at the same time, and all I love, I love alone. Then in my childhood, in the dawn of a most stormy life was drawn. From every depth of good and ill, the mystery which binds me still, From the torrent or the fountain, from the red cliff of the mountain. From the song that round me rolled, in its outing tink of gold, In the lining in the sky, as it passed me a thine eye, From the thunder and the storm, and the cloud that took the form, When the rest of heaven was blue, of a demon in my view. From the song that round me rolled, in its outing tink of gold, In the lining in the sky, as it passed me a thine eye, From the song that round me rolled, in its outing tink of gold, In its outing tink of gold, in its outing tink of gold, In its outing tink of gold, in its outing tink of gold, In its outing tink of gold, in its outing tink of gold, In its outing tink of gold, in its outing tink of gold, In its outing tink of gold, in its outing tink of gold,