The Retreat
HAPPY those early days when IShined in my angel infancy!Before I understood this placeAppointed for my second race,Or taught my soul to fancy oughtBut a white, celestial thought;When yet I had not walked aboveA mile or two from my first love,And looking back, at that short space,Could see a glimpse of his bright face;When on some gilded cloud or flowerMy gazing soul would dwell an hour,And in those weaker glories spySome shadows of eternity;Before I taught my tongue to woundMy conscience with a sinful sound,Or had the black art to dispenseA several sin to every sense;But felt through all this fleshly dressBright shoots of everlastingness.O how I long to travel back,And tread again that ancient track!That I might once more reach that plainWhere first I left my glorious train;From whence the enlightened spirit seesThat shady city of palm-trees.But ah! my soul with too much stayIs drunk, and staggers in the way!Some men a forward motion love,But I by backward steps would move;And, when this dust falls to the urn,In that state I came, return.