A Slammerskin, is it a loose dress…or a loose WOMAN?

Slammerkin: noun [eighteenth century of unknown origin.] 1. A loose gown. 2. A loose woman. (From Emma Donoghue’s 2000 novel of the same name)

A woman who her embraces sexuality and uses sex as power, for profit, has always been maligned. And yet, do we not all “sell” ourselves, in one way or another? Whether or not it is prostitution to profit (monetarily or emotionally) from the selling of one’s own body as a performer, model, lover, dancer, athlete, dominatrix, actress…or any other profession legitimate or otherwise…there is an undeniable parallel between engaging in all of these activities and in turning a profit as a fille de joie or whore, if you prefer. And, as woman, it seems a mistake in comprehension to place a moral judgment upon any one of these states-of-being as more superior to any other. They are not. Be it a loose woman or a loose gown, a slammerskin is simply another name for CHOICE.

*Note: This post is overly simplistic is its view and I certainly did not mean to trivialize sexual crimes against women, rather my intention was to highlight the empowerment of owning one’s body and sexuality in all possible ways, without marginalizing those whom society has chosen to judge as less than.

xxx c.

Marie Antoinette: Misunderstood princess & ill-fated queen (reposted via http://conchitasopenbook.tumblr.com)

Historical non-fiction, as related to royal-women of the ages, has always fascinated me. Their lives were lived in an indulgent manner as foreign to me as the countries they ruled and customs they followed. Still I repeatedly find myself picking-through the next Allison Weir…indulging in the fast-paced historical-fiction of Phillipa Gregory…plodding through the dense and well documented non-fiction biographies of Nancy Goldstone…I always come-back.

The inescapable draw being, I believe, the simple humanity that connects these very REAL women. Yes, they were queens…yes they lived lives filled with eccentricities that very few will ever match and yet they were also mothers, daughters, wives, lovers…they experienced great achievements alongside terrible failures…they celebrated and they grieved and they did so…much like ANY OTHER WOMAN…with all of their hearts.

The main difference, unlike other-women, their successes as much as their failures were witnessed and then judged by their entire countries, and for some, the world. So perhaps it is the magnification of human experience that intrigues. Many of these women chose lives in which decisions cost them blood…both loved ones’ as well as their own. And none so ill-fated a story than that of Marie Antoinette.

Antonia Fraser’s novel, Marie Antoinette: The Journey, based on the true events of Marie Antoinette’s life from childhood until her death at the age of 38, depicts the complexities of politics and culture that cast this French Queen as such a rebellious and infamous historical figure. I have Quoted the novel and film based-on-the-novel (Directed by Sophia Coppola) extensively here as well as in my other blog (www.nymphobrainiac.wordpress.com) and even attempted to embody Madame Antoinette for this past Halloween.

Much has been said about this notorious French royal and yet not much is fact. However, we have Antonia Fraser’s widely read (2001) novel to thank for illuminating much of the truths about this historically monumental woman’s life. As one might guess, Marie Antoinette’s life was not all indulgence and golden opportunities…rather as a foreign-born princess she was to forever to remain a political outsider to her people and political pawn to her family.

Volleyed between her duties as French sovereign and Queen of one of the wealthiest political powers of the 18th century and the political designs of her overbearing mother, the ruling Queen of Austria; Fraser describes for us a very young woman who early in her rule (beginning at the age of 14), caught between these two dialectical forces, chose to indulge in the superficialities of life. She was fashionable, she was fun, she threw great galas, she sang, she acted, she traveled, she gambled, ALL to excess.

And yet, she was also a great supporter of charities, particularly those that catered to women and children. Marie Antoinette was singularly responsible for the rise of fashion in Paris and supported all of the arts equally. She truly gave as much as she got. She was a “glittering star” of the era…and unfortunately, the perfect scape-goat for all that the common-people despised about the inequities of the French royal rule.

Enter…1789…The French Revolution.

Without an adept political voice to defend herself, nor the savvy to predict what danger she and her family were in…the fall of the French royalty was swift. Immediately The King’s power was stripped and much of the royal cabinet was imprisoned or be-headed; there were a few botched escape attempts of the royal family and then the final imprisonment of The King, Queen and their young children.

Their story is iconic and well documented in history books, however I believe that Fraser does a particularly good job of depicting a uniquely perceptive version of these events. We feel for The Queen and her naieve understanding of the political views that would eventually seal her fate, her undying commitment to The King…refusing to leave him even when she could have escaped safely alone…and above all her love for her children…a love that guided her every decision in her life…and at the time of her eventual death.

Fraser paints for us a woman…caught in the political circumstances of an extraordinary life…which perhaps seemed to always be just out of her grasp.

She was a lover of the pleasures of life and conceivably as a princess, not properly endowed with the adequate skill to navigate life’s many displeasures.

She did NOT say, “Let them eat cake!”

She DID say…to her sister-in-law, on the day of her beheading:

‘I have just been condemned to death, not a shameful death, that can only be for criminals, but in order to rejoin your brother (The King). Innocent like him, i hope to demonstrate the same firmness as he did at the end. I am calm, as people whose conscience is clear. My deepest regret is having to abandon our poor children; you know that I lived only for them and for you, my good and tender sister’ (Marie Antoinette, p.495)

Marie Antoinette is an honest portrayal of an alternately despised and celebrated character in our world-history. Let me re-phrase that, Marie Antoinette is a literary portrayal of a woman honest, to her heart. Thank you, Antonia Fraser…for your ability to weave historical fact with palpable feeling with the lightest of touch.

Great read guys…pick it up and DIG IN! xxx c.

(originally posted in: http://conchitasopenbook.tumblr.com/)

Feisty Friday Quotes: Anne Boleyn’s execution speech

I fear I have become a bid morbid this week, with Dia De Los Muertos, Marie Antoinette, and such…call it a passing obsession or just a moment of repose…and reflection…whatever it is, I will end it today with one of my favorite “goodbye’s”…Queen Anne Boleyn‘s execution speech May 19th, 1536 (Check out my previous entry detailing, The Lady In The Tower by Allison Weir HERE).She went to her death with as much courage, determination, and vigor as she lived her life with:

Good Christian people, I have not come here to preach a sermon; I have come here to die, for according to the law and by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it. I am come hither to accuse no man, nor to speak of that whereof I am accused and condemned to die, but I pray God save the King and send him long to reign over you, for a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord.

And if any person will meddle of my cause, I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me. (Quoted from “Anne Boleyn”, Joana Denny, and taken from “The Triumphant Reigne of King Henry the VIII” by Edward Hall, 1904)

When I read the speech in The Lady In The Tower, I cried…when I saw the same scene depicted in HBO’s series The Tudors…I wept piteously.

Here is the scene with Natalie Dormer playing Anne:

Sad, brave, and somehow perfect…another instance wherein we are reminded of our intimate relationship with DEATH in life…enjoy your weekend, xxx c.

 

Marie Antoinette: From maligned queen to gay icon?

I just completed reading Antonia Fraser‘s Marie Antoinette, a 600+ page tome recounting the adventurous and ill-fated life and eventual downfall of this 18th Century Queen of France, and while I will certainly be detailing a review in my Tumblr Blog (Conchita Open Book), something particularly interesting and relevant to nymphobrainiacs everywhere, struck me:

MARIE ANTOINETTE IS A GAY ICON

It did not happen overnight, and the seeds of this modern-celebration were sown in her much criticized (at the time) intimate relationships with select women in her life (the sexual nature of which never confirmed)…she was however eventually condemned for these relationships, a price paid in her own blood when she was beheaded in October of 1792, at the height of the French Revolution (a revolt against the royalist system).

As Fraser writes:

The idea of Marie Antoinette as a tribade-the eighteenth century word for a female homosexual, based on the Greek word for friction-was sedulously preached at the time in lewd pamphlets as a means of abuse. But it has meant that her name…has been entered more pleasantly in homosexual annals as worthy of honour. (p. 510)

I suppose what is most disturbing to me is not that Marie Antoinette became a gay icon (if you will allow) but that she was later lauded for the very thing she died for…part of me celebrates:

Marie Antoinette The Martyr!

Yet, another part of me weeps…saddened that the LTGB community must turn to sensationalized and unconfirmed scandalous accounts of alternate romantic relationships rather than real, loving, celebrated relationships.

Marie Antoinette has become a caricature of  The Sexualized and Objectified Woman…simultaneously admired and maligned throughout the ages…and perhaps that is very reason why We are ALL so attracted to her…

xxx, c.

The Logic of ‘Alice’: Our sense of SELF is the TRUE puzzle!

I wonder if I’ve been changed in the night? Let me think. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I’m not the same, the next question is ‘Who in the world am I?’ Ah, that’s the great puzzle! (Lewis Carrol, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, 1865)

If you have read this blog you know that I have an enduring fascination with our ever-dynamic Sense of Self…and have written on it, in relation to Alice In Wonderland (Click HERE for blog entry), previously. Perhaps it is the measure of fantasy in Alice that has always drawn me, or maybe its great potential for both light and dark…simultaneously…or maybe…

It is the story’s depiction of the constant struggle BETWEEN…between good and bad…light and dark…reality and imaginary.

It is the unknown…the unstable…the unarticulated that I am most compelled by…that place of  THE NOW…the present moment…where we must accept what we see, as what we are…not forever…but for NOW.

Just a little “mushroom” for thought on a Monday afternoon, xxx c.

‘Marie Antoinette’ by Antonia Fraser…a sympathetic nod to a naughty princess!

(This is a repost from my other blog: Conchita’s OPEN Book…I do hope you don’t mind…it seemed relevant)

Last week…in my OTHER blog, MY LIFE AS A NYMPHOBRAINIAC…I wrote about Sophia Coppola‘s 2006 film, Marie Antoinette, staring Kirsten Dunst…an indulgent piece detailing the exploits of its oft misunderstood main character, the film is a beautiful work to behold…visually…it is as sumptuous and sensual as we imagine life at Versailles to be!

Honestly, it feels like a guilty pleasure to watch…

And I enjoy it as much as I do a fluffy, sugary, delicate…piece of…CAKE!

Upon doing a bit more research on the film recently I discovered that it is in fact based on a novel by the historian/fiction writer, Antonia Fraser…

Of course I snatched a copy as quick as I could locate one and after finishing the first 30 pages of this rather lengthy tome (600+ pages in total)…I find a slightly different Marie Antoinette emerging… certainly one who is much more complex…layered…and overall a sympathetic being. A child who who’s future was determined by royal birth and who’s unfortunate downfall appeared to be her destiny. Spoiled…yes…indulgent…yes…and yet she was also innocent and naive to many of the political determinism of her day…and no…she never said,

Let them eat cake!

That unfortunate attribution was actually uttered by a royal 200 years before Marie Antoinette became Queen of France! In fact this queen was quite the humanitarian it seems… Mis-attributions aside…I very much look forward to getting into THIS ONE!

As`always…I will keep you updated along my read! xxx c

It’s Not A Number On an IQ-Test, It’s An ABILITY…A TALENT!

One of the “exclusive” skills of a clinical psychologist is to administer psychological tests…many are personality or psychiatric related, some assess intellectual functioning and ye,s that includes THE infamous IQ Test….the one that is supposed to tell you how “smart” you are but actually measures your ability to fit into the mold of what (mainstream) society deems as intelligence.

Don’t get me wrong, these tests have their place and are certainly helpful when given to younger people seeking benefits and assistance through the educational system for specific deficits or for adults who have suffered traumatic brain injuries…BUT…for most of us, their use is limited to pigeonholing us as “average“. NOT that there is a thing wrong with AVERAGE…except that, having experienced and appreciated my fair share of the more creative aspects of live, I have to say…I think we as individuals are a bit more nuanced when it comes to our INTELLIGENCE.

I have come to the belief (through the possession of this “special knowledge”) that in fact, true intelligence cannot be found simply through reading books, collecting information and skill-sets, perfecting a technique, or by accumulating degrees…Rather true intelligence rests in the ability to absorb, analyze, and then APPLY that learning…perhaps taking a feeling/a moment/history/an idea/a movement and then re-understanding it as representative of a larger pattern that then becomes: art/music/dance/writing…and speaks to millions or just one…intelligence is…about the ability to create connections where before there were NONE…intelligence is creativity!

Bravo! To ALL of my CREATIVE GENIUSES!!!

The Vampire Lover: An Erotic Dreamscape (Chapter I)

For two nights, her lover had come. No that was not right exactly, it had been two nights since her murderer had arrived. Bringing a death so sweet…tenuous and erotic; a satisfaction, she never imagined possible. It was a death breathed from life itself.

Her lover’s true form was not known to her, unless a gender itself was malleable…for even the face and body, revealed to her on the previous eve, resembled the other. It was as if her sweet killer was not one but two, perhaps twins…The most exquisitely beautiful man and woman she had ever laid eyes upon. However that seemed doubtful as at the center of her being, in her soul, she knew. For it was the same touch…the same kiss…the same rhythmic movement of their bodies against one another, hot and fleshy…the taste of skin…the feel of muscle flexing…and the end…the end, her ending, was the same both nights prior…

The first night she came.

Lily drifted toward sleep…her mind floating on a pillow of blanket-like softness…pieces of her day unwinding, freed from linear processes…they became fragments of reality:

Work…walking down the hallway…the mesh cup pencil-holder on her desk. The train…the smell of urine and the sound of Lady GaGa blaring out all consciousness…Rah Rah…Home…the softness of her cat…the heat of the shower…wet…dark…ddeeeeeppppp…

From the shadows of her dream the woman not so much stepped, as glided. Having no time to comprehend the intentions of this apparition, Lily only had a moment to note her presence as in the next, the woman was astride her. She was nude…lithe and long…skin the color of porcelain…her expression was calm, almost sanguine. She didn’t move for what seemed a very long time. Both women stared into one another’s eyes…where developing intentions and desires began to unfold. Lily, clearly in the defensive position, felt a great wash of submission run over her. She felt comforted and safe, a flicker of sexual yearning beginning to rise from deep within her.

The woman appeared to be aglow…to Lily it was a strange trick as the light seemed to both emanate and originate from her…she appeared to pulse…even the woman’s features appeared impermanent as the light lifted off of her high sculpted cheek bones…her large and wide-set, ruby tinted-eyes seemed to gleam as if they were on fire…Her lips…appeared to have a wet sheen all of their own…dark…and slightly parted…her teeth revealed sharp points…wanting. And her skin…before she even reached out to touch the woman, Lily knew its touch..soft and buttery..silk. A thousand utterances sped through Lily’s mind, yet she spoke nothing…and simply remained still…silently, waiting…

The woman spoke, in a voice so sublime it seemed to sing and wrench at Lily’s heart, leaning down…close, petal soft lips brushing trembling skin:

“Death can be like ecstasy, I can show you.

It was a declaration, and not an invitation and the words came crashing down…A tidal wave of desire engulfed Lily…escaping in an audible and sound…pleading, as a cat’s cry…and then…the burning began.

Starting as an insignificant warm tingle in her middle, the woman began to slide weightless along the length of Lily’s body, the heat soon became a flame kindling into a fire. Lily could not lay still. It was as if the threatening words the woman had spoken were in fact simply inane whispers of a lover meant to entreat and titillate. Lily did not care. Her only wish was of unexpressed surrender.

The woman’s mouth was hot upon her…

Her tongue like a serpent, impossibly long and searching…Lily motioned to touch her beautiful hair and quickly found her hands secured above her head. It was not unpleasant. She understood, she was to submit…and Lily found that, for the very first time in her existence, she had never ever wanted anything so thoroughly or completely. She relaxed into the moment…

The woman’s tongue continued its exploration…alternating between long strong strokes, along her delicate shoulders and then down to her taut stomach, to quick flicking teases across her rounded breast and up to her collar-bone. Lily’s thoughts came as feelings and images rather than complete interpretations of her experience:

Clouds, wind, the tickle of a blade of grass…calm…safe…the touch of the sun’s rays…LIGHT! Light everywhere.

The fire burned and…

The woman’s careful licks became playful, intimate bites. First, an excruciatingly pleasureful nip to her breast, gliding to nipping, and turning swiftly into a suckling that made Lily’s back arch high off of her sheets when lips turned to teeth and her nipple seems to sting sending vibrations of pleasure that reverberated throughout her body. Lily felt the pressure on her wrists tighten and relaxed into captor, once more.

The woman’s sharp teeth lightly scrapped a path downward. Her wrists now free, Lily lay prone unable to move past even this moment. Her teeth were a knife being carefully raked across her ribcage…her navel…her hip bone…until…FIRE! Lily sensed rather than felt the women’s movement to her epicenter of pleasure. Mouth, tongue, teeth on her delicate places…moving to the hallow where her thigh met her now pulsating pussy. It was too much. She began to writhe. Fight even for this woman’s touch was unlike any she had known, male or female, igniting desires unformulated and pleasure unmatched. Lily’s soft sighs were now desperate screams and again her thoughts flowed:

Wet…warm like the sea…drowning in a sea of wanting…more…

The woman’s voice floated up to Lily, lilting and birdlike…she was laughing,

“Hush, my sweet…we have only begun.”

More effective than physical restraint, again Lily quieted her struggle although it seemed more of a challenge to comprehend anything apart from her own pleasure.

And now, the lover was upon her lifting and turning her over…nipping her…lengthy licks and sensuous sucking…further down. Lily backed into her lover’s tongue feeling it’s penetration strong and exhilarating, each lick shocking electricity to her core. The build up had been too long and she felt as if her entire body was now alight…glowing hot embers…every touch, every lick, burned and caused her to shrink away. Sensing this the lover, grabbing her hips and ass, pulled her closer and surrendering to her own sensitivity Lily allowed it…with great and unmatched pleasure…

The Lover’s tongue sank deeply into her, without warning or pretense…the effect was: SHATTERING. Lily could only comprehend the tip of her lovers tongue as it darted inside of her…and then out again…landing expertly on her clit and starting a chain reaction of sensations. The searing feeling was quickly overtaken as waves of ecstasy wracked her body. Caught, Lily knew neither time nor space…she was suspended, engulfed and embraced in the revelry that permeated the physical and quickly became purely experiential…

Oh the sensations…she was quivering, as burning heat turned to an icy surge…Lily floated from her orgasm to feel the lover’s body clenched tightly against hers. She was pinned. She stiffened, her instinct for danger instantly triggered but before she could act…Lily opened her eyes, just as…

The lover’s teeth sank deeply into her neck…

White hot liquid seemed to pour from her and it’s release was ecstasy unbridled. Pure. Lily was awash with peace. It seemed impossible, but she felt now the perfect melding of pleasure and pain…desire and satisfaction…The prickly sensitivity that often accompanied arousal and climax dissolved into a simple flowing of ecstasy…

But wait, something was not right. Instead of ebbing away, this feeling was draining…taking everything from her. From far away Lily heard the sick sound of sucking…her energy seeping out of her until only a small trickle remained. Her thoughts became a jumble of the irrational:

What is happening to me? Is this sex? Is this rape? Is this murder? Am I dying…? I cannot…

She could not open her eyes…but a humming came low and deep, sounding like the secret of a dream she would never reveal…it was the lover, murmuring…bidding her goodnight…drifting far, far…father away now…

Lily had gone too far to ever come back.

(The end of Part I).

Anne Boleyn: Knowing a “Woman’s Place”…is only the beginning

Currently, on my Kindle I am enjoying a historical piece by Allison Weir, The Lady in The Tower: The Fall of Anne Boleyn…It cronicles  Anne Boleyn’s rise to Queendom and her consequent fall to beheadedness as Henry VIII’s 2nd of 6 wives (yes even back in THE DAY!), after being found guilty of adultery & treason, namely plotting to kill the king. In truth it is a bit lengthy and full of old English but I cannot seem to stop laboring through it! A fact which has given me pause for reflection…and lead to me to the recognition that what is fascinating me the most about this true story is how the age-old Madonna-Whore myth is re-enacted yet again to bring down a powerful and thus frightening woman. It’s not a new theme in fact it has played out in most of our lives (as women)…in one way or another…So stay with me for a moment…

For all accounts and purposes we can factually assume Anne’s innocence, at least on the count of treason to plot her husband’s murder…but let’s begin at the beginning…King Henry VIII left his first wife Kaherine of Aragon after being “bewitched” by the Lady Anne and then pining after her for years before the Church would grant an annulment to this first marriage. Their “secret” marriage was one not acknowledged by all The Kingdom due to differing (actually warring) poltical and religious factions (if there was a difference between the two at that time).

The Lady Anne, Queen Anne…was not well liked in Court. She was outspoken in her marriage, jealous when Henry took consorts, and enjoyed gambling and flirtations with her ladies-in-waiting. Reportedly she was “schooled” in France and was reputed to have a cortesan-like education. She was also strong in her religeous convictions and politically Anne was extrememly influential as to which way her husband’s alliance swayed. In short she was a Rebel, a calculating rebel and she was quickly marked a danger to those in Court who’s veiws didn’t align with her own. Her one “weakness” was an anability to bare male children with the king (a “problem” which history bears out if you recall who her daughter was).

So, we have a strong, influential, sexually assured woman…Queen. And a court that is clearly flumoxed at best and enraged at worst over her conduct and ability to weild power over them. Enter the plotting, power-hungry male advisor….and voila! We have a scandal to produce!

Very quickly, and I am sure you can fill in the story…The Queen is brought to trial, witnesses are bribed, evidence is fabricated, the King’s widely recognized paranoia is played upon…and we have all the makings of a tragedy…or a soap opera, novella if your prefer…we will call it: “The Lady is a Tramp” or maybe “Black Widow” or perhaps “Off With Her Head! ”…whatever we decide the ending is inevitable…and our tale ends with a necessary victim and a society that is once again soothed by the “justice” of reining-in and finally extinguishing a woman’s power by means of her sexual…proprieties? confidence? expression? No these are far to strong a word how about just…

It was Anne Boleyn’s Sexuality that Screwed her in the End…but at least the King(dom) Got Good HEAD!

Terribly punny I know…but sadly true…in today’s world womens expressed sexuality and affinity for power continue to engender hate (really fear) in others less concious of their own nature…but we must also remember that our dear Queen Anne got the last laugh as her Daughter Elizabeth I was to be the first powerful woman to ascend the crown of England…how interesting that she did so as a VIRGIN!!!..or so she would have us believe, I wonder…

“The Cross of Snow”-Wadsworth

 

There is no doubt that this past weekend was filled with wonderous revelry, fantasy, and fun…with cherished friends and some new as well! In fact I am still shaking my head and smiling after much of what this weekend had to bring…

However, I was also moved to appreciate another aspect of friendship and love this weekend. Perhaps it comes after my own recent loss, perhaps I am thinking of a friend who is grieving, perhaps it is a loved one who’s loss touches me to this day…more likely it is the common feeling that VERY SINGLE ONE of us can relate to…that feeling of losing something/someone that we loved, cherished, held close…whether a relationship, an aspect of ourselves, a cherished possession, or a beloved…we ALL know the sting and longing that grief leaves…the scars of loss.

I came across a sonet by William Wadsworth Longfellow…and it touched me…then I read the story behind this particular piece…and I cried…I would like to share it with you…my friends…in the hopes that sharing this moment…helps soothe those scars in us all, just a bit.

Thank you…always, conchita.

“The Cross of Snow”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow’s wife of 17 years, Frances died tragically while using a wax taper to seal a letter, sets fire to her dress. She screams and bats at the flames, and Longfellow, napping in the next room, rushes in and tries to put out the fire. But her light summer dress, appropriate for the July heat, makes it difficult to extinguish the flames. They put out the fire, but she’s badly burned. A long night follows. She is given ether, but the next day, she dies, in terrible pain. 

Longfellow is beside himself with grief. He was badly burned as well, and has to stay in bed while the mother of his six children is buried. Thereafter, he shuts himself up in his room and paces the floor. He is heard moaning, “Oh, my beautiful wife, my beautiful wife!”

For the rest of his 21 years, the scars remained. The ones on his face he disguised with the long beard that becomes his trademark.

He never remarried, and he rarely talked about his wife. One time, while discussing the Friedrich Schiller poem, “The Ring of Polycrates” — about a ruler whose good fortune is cursed by the gods to lead to tragedy — Longfellow remarked, ‘It was just so with me. I was too happy. I might fancy the gods envied, if I could fancy heathen gods.’”

Eighteen years later, 2 years before he died, he was looking at a book with pictures of the far west and the mountains when he came across a picture much like the one reproduced here, which inspired him to write about his beloved frances. The poem that resulted is “The Cross of Snow,” one of his most poignant and touching sonnets. Longfellow chose to keep his poem, like his grief, private. The poem was found among his papers after his death in 1882.

 

“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.

 

*Scars of the heart are everlasting…but also often soothed simply by sharing our pain with another, trusted…friend. Thank you again…for sharing and for allowing me to share with you…xxx cc