Test

In the long, sleepless watches of the night / A gentle face -- the face of one long dead -- / Looks at me from the wall, where on her head / The nightlamp casts a halo of pale light. / Here in this room she died, and soul more white / Never through martyrdom of fire was lead / To its repose, nor can in books be read / The legend of one 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.