FROM childhood's hour I have not been
As others were — I have not seen
As others saw — I could not bring
My passions from a common spring —
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow — I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone —
And all I lov'd, I lov'd alone —
Then — in my childhood — in the dawn
Of a most stormy life — was drawn
From ev'ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still —
From the torrent, or the fountain —
From the red cliff of the mountain —
From the sun that 'round me roll'd
In its autumn tint of gold —
From a torrent, powerful, forceful, rapid movement of water, to the delicate motion of droplets of water from a fountain. A contrast between how different water can flow, the water a possible metaphor for the flow of life and how it can be harsh or gentle… No matter how the water flows the narrator is still alone, drowning in the depths of solitude 
 

Alone