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

Emily Dickinson