Previous Life



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

-William Wordsworth (1770-1850),
Ode: Intimations of Immortality from
Recollections of Early Childhood







images © 1999 by Randy Wang
up | home | me | donate | email