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...
-William Wordsworth (1770-1850),
from his poem: Ode on Intimations of Immortality