In the long, sleepless watches of the night, | a | ||||
A gentle face — the face of one long dead — | b | ||||
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head | b | ||||
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light. | a | ||||
5 |
Here in this room she died; and soul more white | a | |||
Never through martyrdom of fire was led | b | ||||
To its repose; nor can in books be read | b | ||||
The legend of a life more benedight. | a | ||||
There is a mountain in the distant West | c | ||||
10 |
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines | d | |||
Displays a cross of snow upon its side. | e | ||||
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast | c | ||||
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes | d | ||||
And seasons, changeless since the day she died. | e | ||||
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