From childhood�s hour I have not been
As others were� I have not seen
As others saw� 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 tone;
And all I lov�d, I lov�d alone.
Then� in my childhood� in the dawn
Of a most stormy life� was drawn
From ev�ry 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 sun that �round me roll�d
 In its autumn tint of gold��
 From the lightning in the sky
As it pass�d me flying by�
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.

Elizabeth � it surely is most fit
    (Logic and common usage so commanding)
In thy own book that first thy name be writ,
    Zeno and other sages notwithstanding :
And I have other reasons for so doing
    Besides my innate love of contradiction :
Each poet � if a poet � in pursuing
    The muses thro' their bowers of Truth or Fiction,
Has studied very little of his part,
    Read nothing, written less � in short's a fool
Endued with neither soul, nor sense, nor art,
    Being ignorant of one important rule,
Employed in even the theses of the school �
   Called �� I forget the heathenish Greek name �
(Called any thing, its meaning is the same)
   "Always write first things uppermost in the heart"