THE LOST ONE (Karle Wilson Baker) Indeed, I cannot say Just which of many I shall be Tomorrow, or today Whence are they -- prince, witcher or Devil? 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