I hear the world-call and the clang of the fight; I hear the hoarse cry of my kind;
Yet well do I know, as I quit you to-night, it’s youth that I’m leaving behind.

And often I’ll think of you, empty and black, moose antlers nailed over your door:
Oh, if I should perish my ghost will come back to dwell in you, cabin, once more!
— Robert Service