Poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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. 

1. To the River Rhone
2. To the River Yvette
3. The Baron of St. Castine
4. Oliver Basselin
5. The Crew of the Long Serpent

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