Explore "The Cross of Snow" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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.