WAS POETRY POPULAR IN THE 1800s?

Post by Doris McCraw
writing as Angela Raines

Photo property of the author

April is National Poetry Month. I thought my April post should reflect the importance of poetry. For many in the 1800s, poetry was something they enjoyed. For many, the cadence helped them to remember the words. There was a reason many lessons were taught via the rhyme and rhythm. 

Below are four poets of that era and a poem for your reading enjoyment. There would have been times when characters would reference some of these poems or some of the lines when courting.  Perhaps a schoolteacher would assign one of these to a student to recite in class. Whatever the reason, poetry was popular and widely used by many during this time. So imagine yourself sitting by the hearth and listening to the wind, and someone reading or reciting one of the following works.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)

The Tide Rises, The Tide Falls

The tide rises, the tide falls, The twilight darkens, the curlew calls; Along the sea-sands damp and brown The traveller hastens toward the town, And the tide rises, the tide falls. Darkness settles on roofs and walls, But the sea, the sea in darkness calls; The little waves, with their soft, white hands, Efface the footprints in the sands, And the tide rises, the tide falls. The morning breaks; the steeds in their stalls Stamp and neigh, as the hostler calls; The day returns, but nevermore Returns the traveller to the shore, And the tide rises, the tide falls.


Christine Rosetti (1830-1894)

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away,

         Gone far away into the silent land;

         When you can no more hold me by the hand,

Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.

Remember me when no more day by day

         You tell me of our future that you plann'd:

         Only remember me; you understand

It will be late to counsel then or pray.

Yet if you should forget me for a while

         And afterwards remember, do not grieve:

         For if the darkness and corruption leave

         A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,

Better by far you should forget and smile

         Than that you should remember and be sad.

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Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)

Sonnet 43

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Helen Hunt Jackson (1830-1885

Dreams

Mysterious shapes, with wands of joy and pain,
Which seize us unaware in helpless sleep,
And lead us to the houses where we keep
Our secrets hid, well barred by every chain
That we can forge and bind: the crime whose stain
Is slowly fading ’neath the tears we weep;
Dead bliss which, dead, can make our pulses leap—
Oh, cruelty! To make these live again!
They say that death is sleep, and heaven’s rest
Ends earth’s short day, as, on the last faint gleam
Of sun, our nights shut down, and we are blest.
Let this, then, be of heaven’s joy the test,
The proof if heaven be, or only seem,
That we forever choose what we will dream!

     In my last novel "The Outlaw's Letter", my heroine, Harriet (Hetty) Osgood loved Homer and his story The Odyssey. She was a school teacher who went off on an adventure that started with her agreeing to deliver a letter to an outlaw. But was he really? 

     Here is a brief excerpt from the story:

  “Well, we made it Odysseus,” Harriet, ‘Hetty’ Osgood, remarked as she rode up to the Bucket of Blood on South Union Street in Pueblo, Colorado. The sun was slipping away behind the mountains to the west, painting the sky with blues, grays, and oranges.

Tying off Odysseus, the horse she’d raised from a young cold, Hetty stepped into the shadow, adjusting the bindings on her chest and torso. As she worked to make sure they were secure, she felt her locket press against the area around her collar bone. She’s fallen in love with it the moment her grandmother gave it to her.

Grandmams had bought it in St. Joe, at The Bavarian Jewelry and Watch Repair shop, for her twelfth birthday. “Harriett,” Grandmams told her after she opened the gift, “there are going to be people who say you are homely. Others who will tease you, make you try to fit in. You hold true to who you are and don’t settle. It’s better to be spinster than settle just to be married.,” Grandmams had given her a huge hug, adding, “you follow those words written in there, they will guide you through life.” Engraved inside the locket ‘I Corinthians 13:13’

Hetty had taken Grandmams words to heart. As a spinster, she knew she’d never have the love others claimed, so she’d made a place for herself in the world where she could do the most good. Now, she hoped she was doing the right thing. She admitted it felt right, but she also was thrilled to have taken this short adventure. 

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Doris Gardner-McCraw -

Author, Speaker, Historian-specializing in
Colorado and Women's History

Angela Raines - author: Where Love & History Meet

Books: Angela Raines Books

Photo and Poem: Click Here 

Angela Raines FaceBook: Click Here

GLIMPSES

Post by Doris McCraw, writing as Angela Raines

Hazy view from Pikes Peak
photo property of the author

Glimpses by Helen (Hunt) Jackson

As when on some great mountain-peak we stand,

In breathless awe beneath its dome of sky,

Whose multiplied horizons seem to lie

Beyond the bounds of earthly sea and land,

We find the circles space too vast, too grand,

And soothe our thoughts with restful memory

Of sudden sunlit glimpses we passed by

Too quickly, in our feverish demand

To reach the height,--

So darling, when the brink

Of highest heaven we reach at last, I think

Even that great gladness will grow yet more glad,

As we, with eyes that are no longer sad,

Look back, while Life's horizons slowly sink,

To some swift moments which on earth we had.

From the book"Poems" by Helen Jackson

Little Brown and Company 1908

First appearance in publication September 19, 1872, New York Independent

Colorado Springs from Pikes Peak
photo property of the author

The thing I love about the poetry of Helen Hunt Jackson is the musicality it has when it's read aloud. Not read as one usually reads poetry, with the breaks and breaths at the end of the line, but read as prose. If you read this poem aloud, pausing at commas or reading through the complete thoughts the true beauty of this piece comes through. When you read this piece, read it through more than once to get the feel for what Helen is trying to say. Try different combinations of breaths and thought to combine and see what you get. The beauty is, each time something different arises out of the different combinations. I believe that true poetry never has the same story, the same meaning twice. You can read it at different times and it will touch a different chord each time you read through the poem.

Sometimes when I am reading, I try to hear the voice of a favorite actor or singer saying the words. Then, of course, I try using different voices or even singing the words. It is a way to keep learning, hearing, and understanding.

As you read this or any poetry, keep an open mind and heart. This is the poetry that was popular during the time period we write about. Helen was favorably compared to many of the poets of her time. According to stories, she was actually considered the best, male or female. I always found it interesting that Helen was so popular during her lifetime. It was so much so that she was able to make a living as a writer. Emily Dickinson, her childhood in Amherst, on the other hand, did not become popular until her death. Now the tables have turned and Emily is the better known of the two. Each had their own style, and each wrote beautiful pieces of work.

There is a story that Helen wanted Emily to publish her work, but Emily was hesitant. Helen persisted and there is an anonymous poem written by Emily that Helen had a hand in getting published. Helen suggested that Emily make her the executor of the poems so that she could make sure they were published in case of Emily’s death. Unfortunately, Helen preceded Emily by nine months and three days.

The next time you are looking for something do to, search online for some of Helen's poetry, or better yet, find a book of her poems, and start reading. To me, the gift of the poet is the joy of finding something new every time I read their work. Give poetry, especially Helen’s, a try. It never hurts to try something new and different. Reading the older writers doesn’t make it good or bad, it is what you receive from the gift of the author. To me, that is why poetry will never grow old.

I challenge you to read a poem and then write one of your own or give cento poetry a try. For those who don't know, Cento poetry is taking lines from other poems and using them to create something new.

Of course, I couldn't let a post pass without mentioning how the classics play into my own writing. In my latest 'Lockets & Lace' novel, "The Outlaw's Letter", my heroine is passionate about Homer's Odyssey.  Here is a short excerpt:

      To Hetty's mind, Boggs was the worst kind of human. He seemed to take pleasure in tormenting her, knowing she couldn't leave; the ropes securing her had seen to that.

     "Mighty pretty rainbow," his voice whispered in her ear. "I always loved rainbows."

     "I don't believe you," Hetty spat. "How could someone who does what you do…"

     "See, you judge so harshly," Boggs interrupted, adding, "Just so you know, I have you here so Grant will see you, so he knows…"

     "Knows what? How do you know he's coming?"

     Boggs didn't make sense. There was no convincing him that holding her hostage was a waste of time.

     Hetty closed her eyes, shutting out the vision of freedom. What would Odysseus do in this situation, the hero she revered from Homer's Odyssey, Hetty wondered. "Who am I kidding, he would not be tied up in a mountain cabin."

     She must've spoken out loud for the voice continued in her ear. "You never know, Grant could find himself in your situation, except I've found out he's worth a lot more dead."

     At hearing Boggs' statement about Grant being worth more dead, Hetty started to panic. The more Boggs said, the more frightened Hetty became.  

　

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Doris Gardner-McCraw -

Author, Speaker, Historian-specializing in
Colorado and Women's History

Angela Raines - author: Where Love & History Meet

For a list of Angela Raines Books: Here 

Angela Raines Facebook Group

Popular Poetry of the 1800s

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However, on my scheduled blog day, I want to share the other side of history and writers. 
April is National Poetry month. In honor it seemed appropriate to share some of the more popular poems from the 1800s. 

Christina Rosetti is a favorite of mine. Here is her poem 'Echo'

Echo

Come to me in the silence of the night;

   Come in the speaking silence of a dream;

Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright

   As sunlight on a stream;

      Come back in tears,

O memory, hope, love of finished years.

Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet,

   Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,

Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet;

   Where thirsting longing eyes

      Watch the slow door

That opening, letting in, lets out no more.

Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live

   My very life again tho’ cold in death:

Come back to me in dreams, that I may give

   Pulse for pulse, breath for breath:

      Speak low, lean low,

As long ago, my love, how long ago.

Of course you can't talk about 1800s poetry without mentioning Emily Dickenson. Here is her poem ' Sometimes with the Heart'

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few - love at all. 

Anytime you speak about poets of the 1800s you usually include Tennyson. Here is a poem some of you may recognize:

Lullaby - Poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson

Sweet and low, sweet and low, 

Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon:
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. 

I will leave you with a favorite of mine from Helen (Hunt) Jackson:

Last Words

Dear hearts, whose love has been so sweet to know,

That I am looking backward as I go,

Am lingering while I haste, and in this rain

Of tears of joy am mingling tears of pain;

Do not adorn with costly shrub, or tree,

Or flower, the little grave which shelters me.

Let the wild wind-sown seeds grow up unharmed,

And back and forth all summer, unalarmed,

Let all the tiny, busy creatures creep;

Let the sweet grass its last year's tangles keep;

And when, remembering me, you come some day

And stand there, speak no praise, but only say,

" How she loved us'! 'Twas that which made her dear! "

Those are the words that I shall joy to hear.

Here's to the beauty of poetry. When you get a moment, stop by and read some of the other poets who were creatiing pictures and emotions with words. Poetry was enjoyed by many and you might be surprised by who was writing and what they wrote about. 

Until next time.

Doris Gardner-McCraw -

Author, Speaker, Historian-specializing in
Colorado and Women's History

Member of National League of American Pen Women,

Women Writing the West,

Pikes Peak Posse of the Westerners

Angela Raines - author: Where Love & History Meet

For a list of Angela Raines Books: Here 

Photo and Poem: Click Here 

Angela Raines FaceBook: Click Here