"The Cross of Snow" by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 

An ember from the fireplace caught on the dress of the poet's wife. As a result, her life was cut short. It is said that Longfellow tried to put out the fire, which burned and disfigured his face so much that that he grew a long beard to hide it... I read this in 8th or 9th grade and it always stays in my memory. I've always found this sonnet touching, yet poignant.

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.