Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
"The Cross of Snow"
In the long, sleepless watches of the night,
A gentle face--the face of one long dead--
Looks at me from the wall, where round its head
The night-lamp casts a halo of pale light.
Here in this room she died, and soul more white
Never through martyrdom of fire was led
To its repose; nor can in books be read
The legend of a life more benedight.
There is a mountain in the distant West
That, sun-defying, in its deep ravines
Displays a cross of snow upon its side.
Such is the cross I wear upon my breast
These eighteen years, through all the changing scenes
And seasons, changeless since the day she died.
On a lighter note, I spent 8 hours washing dogs at my new job, and I loved every minute of it. I think it's one of the best jobs I've had so far.
When I'm not at work or school I find that I've been spending a lot of my spare time digging up plans to make snowshoes and moccasins for this winter. As for long term construction plans, I hope to make something like this to live in...
Well, I can dream, can't I?
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