poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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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 changingscenes


And seasons, changeless since the day she died.

Poem Submitted: Thursday, January 1, 2004

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Comments about The Cross Of Snow by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  • Gangadharan Nair Pulingat (1/29/2015 7:58:00 AM)

    Death of a near one is always painful. When it relates to the better half the sadness is more and here the poet writes the poem in extreme sadness and it is great.

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  • Liandra Schoot (6/15/2008 8:41:00 PM)

    I love this sad poem, it really reflects the love of the poet for his dead wife, whom he will remember and love forever.

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Read poems about / on: snow, fire, night, sun, light