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.
~ From Ode on Intimations of Immortality by William Wordsworth (English, 1770-1850). With thanks to Steven Pressfield for the reminder.