Intimations of Immortality

Preludes & Fugues

Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;
The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star,
Hath had elsewhere it's 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:
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Thanks to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks to it's tenderness, it's joys, and fear,
To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.

Wm Wordsworth 1770 - 1850

I have always found comfort and joy in these lines...I wonder IF Beethoven
ever read much of Wordsworth? They were born the same year, 1770 but Beethoven died in 1827. Billy Boy lived to be 80 years old! Ancient for the times! Ludwig only made it to 57. Not old by today's life span. God, I can only imagine what living to 80 would be like. I never dreamed I'd live to see 40!
IMMORTALITY!