THE LOST ONE

by: Karle Wilson Baker (1878-1960)

      here are so many kinds of me
      Indeed, I cannot say
      Just which of many I shall be
      Tomorrow, or today.

      Whence are they -- princess, witch or nun?
      I know not; this I know:
      The gravest, gentlest, simplest one
      Was buried long ago.

      Wrapped in the faded pride it wore,
      It slumbers, as is fit,
      And nothing tells the name it bore
      Or marks the place of it.

      But all the other kinds of me,
      They know, and turn aside,
      And check their laughter soberly
      Above that one that died.

"The Lost One" is reprinted from Blue Smoke. Karle Wilson Baker. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1919.

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