959 A loss of something ever felt I— The first that I could recollect Bereft I was—of what I knew not Too young that any should suspect A Mourner walked among the children I notwithstanding went about As one bemoaning a Dominion Itself the only Prince cast out— Elder, Today, a session wiser And fainter, too, as Wiseness is— I find myself still softly searching For my Delinguent Palaces— And a Suspicion, like a Finger Touches my Forehead now and then That I am looking oppositely For the site of the Kingdom of Heaven—