When the hours of Day are numbered,

And the voices of the Night

Wake the better soul, that slumbered,

To a holy, calm delight;

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,

And, like phantoms grim and tall,

Shadows from the fitful firelight

Dance upon the parlor wall;

Then the forms of the departed

Enter at the open door;

The beloved, the true-hearted,

Come to visit me once more;

He, the young and strong, who cherished

Noble longings for the strife,

By the roadside fell and perished,

Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,

Who the cross of suffering bore,

Folded their pale hands so meekly,

Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beauteous,

Who unto my youth was given,

More than all things else to love me,

And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep

Comes that messenger divine,

Takes the vacant chair beside me,

Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me

With those deep and tender eyes,

Like the stars, so still and saint-like,

Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,

Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,

Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,

Breathing from her lips of air.

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,

All my fears are laid aside,

If I but remember only

Such as these have lived and died!

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 whiteNever through martyrdom of fire was ledTo its repose; nor can in books be readThe legend of a life more benedight.There is a mountain in the distant WestThat, sun-defying, in its deep ravinesDisplays a cross of snow upon its side.Such is the cross I wear upon my breastThese eighteen years, through all the changing scenesAnd seasons, changeless since the day she died.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's wife died tragically when an ember from the fireplace caught her dress on fire and burnt her so badly that she died a few days later. Longfellow tried to put out the fire, and it is said that his face was so badly disfigured that he grew the familiar long beard to hide the scars.

Eighteen years later 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. The poem that resulted is "The Cross of Snow," one of his most poignant and touching sonnets.

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Much of the inspiration for Romantic poetry came from nature.

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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was a 19th century American poet who wrote in the style of the English Romantics. The most popular American poet of his time, he was known and loved for his poems that appealed to the general population. His 1879 poem “Cross of Snow” is a commemoration of the death of his wife, Frances.Sponsored Link

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Why Romanticism?

Romanticism began in the late 18th century as a philosophical and artistic response to Enlightenment, or the Age of Reason. Enlightenment philosophy began as an attempt to move society away from accepted traditions and use reason to establish an intellectual society based on facts and scientific knowledge. Romantics felt this philosophy made no room for imaginative creativity and set out to transform the way society felt about art, culture and its perception of the world. Longfellow’s poem “A Cross of Snow” uses many of the techniques typical of Romantic-era poets.

Personal Experience and Deep Emotion

The Romantics believed art and poetry could be inspired by personal experiences which stimulated deep emotion, which in turned stimulated philosophical thought. “A Cross of Snow” is a poem Longfellow wrote eighteen years after the death of his wife. She died in a domestic fire in which Longfellow himself was injured as he tried to save her. In the poem, Longfellow indicates that his grief for her is still as strong as it was the day she died.

Inspiration from Nature

Romantics felt that nature provided unlimited inspiration for the human imagination, and they found much symbolism in natural phenomena. In “Cross of Snow,” Longfellow notices that snow gathered in a mountain ravine resembles the shape of a cross. Because the ravine is situated so that high temperatures and sunlight never melt the snow, it reminds him of his own grief that can never be

alleviated. The cross also symbolizes his faith in God, and nature here provides a connection to a divine creator. The cross also symbolizes burdens humans bear, such as was defined by the words of Jesus, “Take up your cross and follow me.” Longfellow is expressing that grief has been his cross to bear over these eighteen years.

Meter and Rhyme

Romantics tended to use strict meter and rhyme schemes in their poetry. “A Cross of Snow” is written in the form of an Italian sonnet, which required fourteen lines with a very specific rhyme scheme. The first eight lines follow an ABBA ABBA rhyme pattern. The last six lines follow a CDE CDE pattern. In these patterns, lines represented by the same letter will rhyme. The change in rhyme scheme also indicates a change in subject matter. In this case the first eight lines discuss his wife, the last six lines discuss the mountain.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born in Maine in 1807 and became America's most celebrated poet during his lifetime. Heavily influenced by the works of German romantic writers, Longfellow created sentimental poetry that romanticized America's history and its native culture and celebrated its institutions. In one of his most acclaimed poems, "Evangeline: A Tale of Acadie," Longfellow told an epic tale of love and loss.

He returned to this theme many years later with "The Cross of Snow," a poem describing love and loss in a more profound and personal way.

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The Persistent SuitorThe romantic movement in European literature and art that began at the end of the 18th century directly opposed the prevailing neoclassical movement favoring logic and rationality. Romanticism encouraged appreciation of nature and expression of emotions. Longfellow completed his first major work, "Hyperion, A Romance," in 1839. The narrative displayed many hallmarks of Romanticism. Its main character, Paul Fleming, expresses bitter disappointment when his marriage proposal to a woman he deeply loves is rejected. "Hyperion" served as an autobiographical vehicle for Longfellow, and the woman was recognized as Frances Appleton. Although she was further put off after publication of "Hyperion," Longfellow

continued to court her. Seven years later, Appleton finally agreed to marry him.

Love and MarriageDespite their unpromising courtship, Longfellow and Fanny enjoyed a happy marriage. He realized increasing fame and produced his most popular works during their marriage. Fanny inspired Longfellow's singular love poem, "The Evening Star," written in 1845. In Romantic literary style, Longfellow linked nature with his inner feelings of passion, calling Fanny, "My morning and my evening star of love!" During their marriage, Longfellow also wrote two of his most beloved poems, "To My Son" and "The Children's Hour," both of which were inspired by his love for his children.

Love and LossIn 1861, Longfellow's proliferation of work and fulfilling personal life came to a tragic end. Fanny accidentally set herself on fire while melting wax to seal envelopes of her daughters' hair curls. Longfellow tried desperately to save her and suffered severe burns. Fanny died at home the following day. Shortly thereafter, Longfellow intimated to Fanny's sister that he wondered how he was managing to exist after witnessing Fanny's death. He also admitted his love for Fanny had only increased with the years. Despite Longfellow's

overwhelming devotion to Fanny, and his dedication to Romanticism in his work, it would be 18 years before he authored a poem revealing his grief over losing her.

Mountain of InspirationIn 1879, Longfellow saw a picture of Colorado's Mount of the Holy Cross. The snow in the mountain's crevices formed a cross that resisted melting, even in summer. The picture had a profound effect on Longfellow, inspiring "The Cross of Snow." The poem begins with a sentimental reflection on his wife's portrait. He imagines her an angel wearing a "halo of pale light." He romanticizes her as so pure in life that her death was "martyrdom." In the icy cross on the mountain's side, Longfellow uses a metaphor for his paralyzed heart. He is the mountain, his grief the never-melting cross "I wear upon my breast." Like the cross, Longfellow's grief never diminished "through all the changing scenes and seasons."

On a cold day the fictional 304th New York Regiment awaits

battle beside a river. Eighteen-year-old Private Henry

Fleming, remembering his romantic reasons for enlisting as

well as his mother's resulting protests, wonders whether he

will remain brave in the face of fear, or turn and run. He is

comforted by one of his friends from home, Jim Conklin, who

admits that he would run from battle if his fellow soldiers also

fled. During the regiment's first battle, Confederate soldiers

charge, but are repelled. The enemy quickly regroups and

attacks again, this time forcing some of the unprepared Union

soldiers to flee. Fearing the battle is a lost cause,

Henry deserts his regiment. It is not until after he reaches the

rear of the army that he overhears a general announcing the

Union's victory.

In despair, he declared that he was not like those others. He now conceded it to be impossible that he should ever become a hero. He was a craven loon. Those pictures of glory were piteous things. He groaned from his heart and went staggering off.

The Red Badge of Courage, Chapter eleven[19]

Ashamed, Henry escapes into a nearby forest, where he

discovers a decaying body in a peaceful clearing. In his

distress, he hurriedly leaves the clearing and stumbles upon a

group of injured men returning from battle. One member of

the group, a "tattered soldier", asks Henry where he is

wounded, but the youth dodges the question. Among the

group is Jim Conklin, who has been shot in the side and is

suffering delirium from blood-loss. Jim eventually dies of his

injury, defiantly resisting aid from his friend, and an enraged

and helpless Henry runs from the wounded soldiers. He next

joins a retreating column that is in disarray. In the ensuing

panic, a man hits Henry on the head with his rifle, wounding

him. Exhausted, hungry, thirsty, and now wounded, Henry

decides to return to his regiment regardless of his shame.

When he arrives at camp, the other soldiers believe his injury

resulted from a grazing bullet during battle. The other men

care for the youth, dressing his wound.

The next morning Henry goes into battle for the third time. His

regiment encounters a small group of Confederates, and in

the ensuing fight Henry proves to be a capable soldier,

comforted by the belief that his previous cowardice had not

been noticed, as he "had performed his mistakes in the dark,

so he was still a man".[20] Afterward, while looking for a stream

from which to obtain water with a friend, he discovers from the

commanding officer that his regiment has a lackluster

reputation. The officer speaks casually about sacrificing the

304th because they are nothing more than "mule drivers" and

"mud diggers." With no other regiments to spare, the general

orders his men forward.

In the final battle, Henry acts as the flag-bearer after the color

sergeant falls. A line of Confederates hidden behind a fence

beyond a clearing shoots with impunity at Henry's regiment,

which is ill-covered in the tree-line. Facing withering fire if they

stay and disgrace if they retreat, the officers order a charge.

Unarmed, Henry leads the men while entirely escaping injury.

Most of the Confederates run before the regiment arrives, and

four of the remaining men are taken prisoner. The novel

closes with the following passage:

It rained. The procession of weary soldiers became a

bedraggled train, despondent and muttering, marching

with churning effort in a trough of liquid brown mud under

a low, wretched sky. Yet the youth smiled, for he saw

that the world was a world for him, though many

discovered it to be made of oaths and walking sticks. He

had rid himself of the red sickness of battle. The sultry

nightmare was in the past. He had been an animal

blistered and sweating in the heat and pain of war. He

turned now with a lover's thirst to images of tranquil

skies, fresh meadows, cool brooks, an existence of soft

and eternal peace.

Over the river a golden ray of sun came through the

hosts of leaden rain clouds.[21]