Is This New or Old?

I do not remember whether
in my childhood I once felt
a despair as keen and bright as
that which overwhelms me now,

for it seems to me that always
when I sat alone and sad,
I was numb and I was silent,
and I did not feel this ache,

but in childhood, I did not know
to feel pain. I did not think
to use speech. I wanted shadows
and to only be alone.

There were books, and there were notebooks;
there were flowing gowns and dew.
It was cold. I needed no one,
and I shivered. It was good.

It is too far gone to known now
whether childhood's heart-pangs struck
any blows as sharp and heavy
as the ones that wound today.