Sleep

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's Sleep

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's sonnet "Sleep" stands as one of the most evocative explorations of humanity's nightly surrender to unconsciousness in American poetry. Written by one of the most celebrated American poets of the 19th century, this fourteen-line meditation transforms the universal experience of seeking rest into a richly textured contemplation that weaves together classical mythology, personal suffering, and existential inquiry. This analysis examines Longfellow's masterful creation through multiple interpretive lenses, considering its formal structure, mythological allusions, biographical context, and philosophical dimensions.

The poem presents sleep not merely as biological necessity but as a mystical state—a "lesser mystery" that prefigures death, "the greater mystery." Through this lens, Longfellow invites readers to consider how our nightly surrender to unconsciousness relates to our ultimate surrender of consciousness at life's end. By examining the intricate craftsmanship of this sonnet alongside its emotional and intellectual resonances, we can appreciate how Longfellow transforms a seemingly simple plea for rest into a profound meditation on human vulnerability, suffering, and mortality.

Formal Structure and Poetic Technique

"Sleep" follows the structure of an Italian (Petrarchan) sonnet, a form particularly suited to philosophical reflection and emotional progression. The poem divides naturally into an octave (the first eight lines) and a sestet (the final six lines), with a volta or turn occurring between them that shifts the poem's focus. This structure allows Longfellow to establish his desperate plea for sleep in the octave before turning to a more contemplative consideration of sleep's relationship to death in the sestet.

The metrical pattern adheres to iambic pentameter, creating a rhythm that mimics both the measured breathing of sleep and the dignified pace of philosophical inquiry. Within this traditional framework, Longfellow deploys a variety of poetic techniques that enrich the poem's textual fabric.

The sonnet opens with a direct address to the "winds," employing apostrophe to animate natural forces. This personification continues throughout the poem as Sleep itself becomes personified, addressed as an entity capable of laying "thy soft hand upon my brow and cheek." This technique transforms abstract concepts into tangible presences with whom the speaker can negotiate, plead, and commune.

Longfellow's diction is deliberately elevated, drawing on archaic forms ("ye winds," "whereof") that create a sense of timelessness appropriate to the universal experiences of sleep and death. This formal register also helps establish the poem's contemplative atmosphere, lifting the discussion of sleep beyond mere physical rest to a more profound philosophical plane.

Consonance and assonance create subtle sonic patterns throughout the poem. The repeated "w" sounds in the opening line ("Lull me to sleep, ye winds, whose fitful sound") create a whispering effect that mimics the gentle winds being described. Similar sonic textures appear in phrases like "wakeful eyes," "too much toil," and "subtile meaning," creating a musical quality that complements the poem's references to the "Aeolian harp" and Hermes' "lyre."

Mythological Framework

The poem is richly infused with classical mythology, demonstrating Longfellow's deep engagement with the Greek and Roman traditions that were foundational to 19th-century American literary education. These mythological references are not mere ornamental flourishes but serve to universalize the speaker's personal experience, connecting individual suffering to timeless human patterns.

The reference to an "Aeolian harp" in the second line invokes Aeolus, the Greek keeper of winds, while also referencing an actual stringed instrument that produces sound when wind passes through it. This creates a layered metaphor where the speaker's consciousness becomes an instrument played upon by external forces beyond his control—a fitting image for the passive surrender required by sleep.

The most elaborate mythological allusion occurs in lines 3-5, which reference the story of Hermes and Argus. In Greek mythology, Argus Panoptes was a giant with a hundred eyes who was set by Hera to guard Io, one of Zeus's lovers. Hermes, sent by Zeus, lulled all of Argus's eyes to sleep with his lyre before killing him. Longfellow brilliantly maps this myth onto the experience of insomnia, casting thoughts as the "hundred wakeful eyes" that must be sealed by sleep. This metaphor captures the vigilant, restless quality of an overactive mind that prevents restful slumber.

The metaphorical transformation of thoughts into eyes creates a striking sensory confusion that effectively conveys the heightened sensitivity of insomnia, where the mind seems to observe and analyze everything with penetrating intensity. Sleep, like Hermes with his lyre, must overcome this hyper-vigilance before rest can come.

The final mythological reference appears in the sestet, where Longfellow alludes to the Eleusinian Mysteries of ancient Greece—religious rites dedicated to Demeter and Persephone that promised initiates special knowledge about the afterlife. By characterizing sleep as "the lesser mystery" and death as "the greater mystery," Longfellow draws on this tradition of sacred revelation, suggesting that both sleep and death offer forms of initiation into transcendent states of being.

Personal Suffering and Historical Context

The poem was likely written during a period of profound personal suffering for Longfellow. While the exact date of composition is unclear, it may belong to the period following the tragic death of his second wife, Frances Appleton, who died in 1861 after her dress caught fire. Longfellow himself was severely burned trying to save her and wore a beard afterward to hide his scars. Whether or not this specific tragedy informed "Sleep," the poem clearly emerges from a place of intense anguish, as evidenced by phrases like "I am weary, and am overwrought / With too much toil, with too much care distraught, / And with the iron crown of anguish crowned."

A sad accident,which proved fatal yesterday forenoon, befel Mrs. FANNY LONGFELLOW, wife of Prof. HENRY W. LONGFELLOW, at their residence in Cambridge, on Tuesday afternoon. While seated at her library table, making seals for the entertainment of her two youngest children, a match or piece of lighted paper caught her dress, and she was in a moment enveloped in flames. Prof. LONGFELLOW, who was in his study, ran to her assistance, and succeeded in extinguishingthe flames, with considerable injury to himself, but too late for the rescue of her life. Drs. WYMAN and JOHNSON, of Cambridge, and HENRY J. BIGELOW, of this city, were summoned, and did all that surgical skill could do. Both of the sufferers were under the influence of ether through the night, and yesterday morning Mrs. LONGFELLOW rallied a little, but at 11 o'clock she was forever released from suffering. Mrs. LONGFELLOW was a gifted and accomplished lady, the daughter of Hon. NATHAN APPLETON. She leaves five children to mourn, with their father, their common loss.

Prof. LONGFELLOW's injuries, though serious, are not of a dangerous kind. -- Boston Daily Advertiser, July 11.

The "iron crown of anguish" presents a particularly powerful image that transforms emotional suffering into physical torment. This crown imagery carries multiple resonances: it suggests the crown of thorns worn by Christ, evoking sacrificial suffering; it recalls the actual Iron Crown of Lombardy, a medieval relic said to contain a nail from the True Cross; and it creates a bitter paradox where the speaker is "crowned" not with honor but with pain.

Beyond personal biography, the poem reflects broader cultural currents of Longfellow's era. As a prominent figure in American Romanticism, Longfellow participated in a literary movement that valued emotional authenticity, sublime experiences, and fascination with mortality. The poem's intense subjectivity and its preoccupation with states of consciousness beyond rational thought align with Romantic sensibilities.

Additionally, the 19th century witnessed significant developments in the scientific understanding of sleep and consciousness. The Victorian era's growing interest in dreams, mesmerism, and altered states of consciousness provides cultural context for Longfellow's poetic exploration of sleep as a mysterious domain bordering on the metaphysical.

The Plea for Relief: Sleep as Healer

The octave establishes a desperate plea for relief through sleep, portraying the speaker in a state of profound exhaustion and suffering. The language emphasizes both physical and mental fatigue: "weary," "overwrought," "too much toil," "too much care." This accumulation of terms related to exhaustion creates a palpable sense of a person pushed beyond their limits, making the desire for sleep not merely a wish for rest but for healing.

When the speaker directly addresses Sleep in line 9 ("O peaceful Sleep!"), the exclamation mark underscores the emotional intensity of this appeal. Sleep is characterized as having a "soft hand," contrasting sharply with the "iron crown of anguish" that currently afflicts the speaker. This tactile imagery suggests that sleep offers not just absence of consciousness but a positive, soothing presence.

The physical relief sought is explicitly respiratory—"until from pain released / I breathe again uninterrupted breath!" The emphasis on breathing connects sleep to the most fundamental rhythm of life, suggesting that the speaker's suffering has compromised even this basic biological function. The exclamation mark closing line 11 reinforces the urgency of this desire for unobstructed breathing.

This portrayal of sleep as healer reflects ancient medical traditions that recognized sleep's restorative properties. In Greek medicine, associated with Asclepius (god of healing), sleep was considered essential for recovery from illness. The therapeutic dimensions of sleep were also recognized in the Hippocratic corpus, which advised doctors to observe patients' sleep patterns when diagnosing conditions. Longfellow's portrayal of sleep as a healing touch acknowledges this long tradition of understanding sleep as central to physical and mental wellbeing.

The Volta: From Personal Plea to Philosophical Reflection

The sestet marks a significant shift in perspective, moving from the immediate personal plea for relief to a more contemplative consideration of sleep's metaphysical significance. This volta is signaled by "Ah," an exclamation that introduces a moment of insight or realization.

The final three lines pivot to consider how "the Greek" (referring to ancient Greek culture) understood sleep as "the lesser mystery at the feast / Whereof the greater mystery is death!" This reference to the Eleusinian Mysteries transforms the poem from a personal lament to a universal meditation on human consciousness and its interruptions.

The characterization of sleep as a "lesser mystery" to death's "greater mystery" suggests several interpretations. Sleep and death have long been associated in literary and philosophical traditions, from Homer's description of them as brothers (Hypnos and Thanatos) to Shakespeare's "To sleep, perchance to dream" soliloquy in Hamlet. By framing both as "mysteries"—sacred experiences that reveal transcendent truths—Longfellow suggests that our nightly surrender to unconsciousness prepares us for and perhaps teaches us something about our ultimate surrender in death.

The word "subtile" (an archaic spelling of "subtle") emphasizes the nuanced wisdom he finds in this Greek conception. This praise for ancient wisdom reflects the 19th-century American intellectual tradition of looking to classical civilizations for enduring insights about the human condition.

Existential Dimensions: Sleep, Death, and Consciousness

Through its comparison of sleep and death, the poem engages profound existential questions about human consciousness and its interruptions. Sleep represents a nightly rehearsal for death—a temporary surrender of agency, awareness, and identity that prefigures our final surrender. Yet sleep also differs crucially from death in its temporary nature, offering renewal rather than permanent cessation.

The poem's conclusion invites readers to consider how our understanding of sleep might inform our understanding of death. If sleep is restorative despite being a kind of little death each night, might death itself contain some form of restoration or transformation beyond our understanding? This question hovers implicitly in the poem's final exclamation mark, suggesting wonder rather than resolution.

Longfellow's characterization of both sleep and death as "mysteries" draws on religious language of sacred initiation, suggesting that both states offer forms of revelation inaccessible to ordinary waking consciousness. This perspective aligns with Romantic and Transcendentalist interest in states of consciousness that transcend rational thought, offering access to deeper truths.

The poem's treatment of consciousness also raises questions about human vulnerability. Both in sleep and death, we must surrender control and security—a frightening prospect, yet one that the poem suggests might bring its own forms of peace and insight. The speaker's willingness to surrender to sleep despite its similarity to death reveals human resilience in the face of vulnerability.

Contextualizing "Sleep" in Longfellow's Oeuvre

"Sleep" exhibits characteristic elements of Longfellow's poetic style and preoccupations, while also showing a more personal, introspective dimension than some of his more public-facing narrative poems. As the most widely read American poet of his era, Longfellow was known for accessible verse that often drew on historical and mythological material to convey moral and spiritual insights.

This sonnet displays his characteristic erudition through its classical allusions, yet channels this learning toward intimate emotional expression rather than historical narrative. Unlike his famous narrative works such as "Paul Revere's Ride" or "The Song of Hiawatha," "Sleep" turns inward, focusing on subjective experience rather than external events or characters.

The poem's formal perfection reflects Longfellow's renowned technical mastery. As a professor of modern languages who translated works from multiple European traditions, Longfellow brought sophisticated understanding of poetic forms to his own composition. His comfort with the sonnet form—maintaining its structural integrity while avoiding rigidity—demonstrates his ability to work within tradition while achieving genuine emotional expression.

The religious and spiritual dimensions of "Sleep" connect to Longfellow's broader engagement with questions of faith and mortality throughout his work. Though less explicitly religious than contemporaries like Emily Dickinson, Longfellow consistently explored how human experience relates to transcendent meaning. This sonnet's suggestion that sleep might offer insight into death's mystery exemplifies his characteristic search for spiritual significance within ordinary human experiences.

Conclusion: The Enduring Resonance of Longfellow's "Sleep"

Longfellow's "Sleep" achieves remarkable depth within its fourteen concise lines, transforming the universal experience of seeking slumber into a meditation on suffering, consciousness, and mortality. Through its skillful integration of classical mythology, personal anguish, and existential inquiry, the poem invites readers to consider how our nightly surrender to sleep might inform our understanding of life's final mystery.

The sonnet's enduring power derives partly from its honest portrayal of human vulnerability. The speaker's admission of being "weary" and "overwrought" acknowledges limits that all humans face, while the desperate plea for relief resonates with anyone who has experienced insomnia, anxiety, or overwhelming stress. Yet the poem transcends mere complaint by connecting personal suffering to universal patterns through its mythological framework and philosophical turn.

From a contemporary perspective, the poem remains relevant in an era when sleep disturbances are increasingly common and sleep science continues to reveal the crucial importance of rest for physical and mental health. Longfellow's portrayal of sleep as a healing presence laying a "soft hand" upon brow and cheek aligns with modern understanding of sleep's restorative functions, while his connection between sleep and death continues to resonate in an age still grappling with mortality's meaning.

"Sleep" exemplifies poetry's unique capacity to transform universal human experiences through precise language and evocative imagery. By layering classical allusion, sensory detail, and philosophical reflection, Longfellow elevates a common experience to the realm of mystery and meaning—inviting readers across time to recognize their own vulnerabilities, sufferings, and wonderings in these fourteen lines. The poem remains a testament to how literary art can illuminate the profound dimensions of even our most ordinary surrenders.