." Ah, truly, shades of the prison-house close about us, the new-born things, and all too soon do we forget.

And yet, when we were new-born we did remember other times and places.

We, helpless infants in arms or creeping quadruped-like on the floor, dreamed our dreams of air-flight.
Yes; and we endured the torment and torture of nightmare fears of dim and monstrous things.

We new-born infants, without experience, were born with fear, with memory of fear; and _memory is experience_.
As for myself, at the beginnings of my vocabulary, at so tender a period that I still made hunger noises and sleep noises, yet even then did I know that I had been a star-rover.

Yes, I, whose lips had never lisped the word "king," remembered that I had once been the son of a king.
More--I remembered that once I had been a slave and a son of a slave, and worn an iron collar round my neck.
Still more.