CHAPTER III

THE LANGUAGE OF POETRY

The spoken word in poetry has for its direct symbol the printed word. What is true of the one will, therefore, presumably bẹ true of the other. And this is so. Language as uttered sounds does not of itself make poetry any more than the words on the printed page make poetry. Language is the accepted medium of expression for poetry, just as marble is for sculpture, or pigments and canvas are for painting; and without language, it is safe in general to say, there could be no poetry.

-H. R. FAIRCHILD, The Making of Poetry.

The word of the Poet by whom the deeps

of the world are stirr'd,

The music that robes it in language beneath
and beyond the word.

-TENNYSON, The Wreck.

Lest we begin by accepting the false notion that the function of words in poetry is confined to their meanings, let us at once assert the contrary. Succeeding chapters will show that verbal sounds, both apart from and conbined with the sense, are most important factors in poetical and rhythmical expression. Just now, however, we must examine words especially with their meanings in mind, casting only a passing glance at their sounds apart from their intellectual content.

Poe asserted that words were sufficient to express any idea, and in this he was supported by distinguished authorities. But surely there are thoughts beyond the power of

any words even to connote-imaginings which picture "the light that never was, on sea or land," the tree "which bare twelve manner of fruits," golden streets which yet are crystal clear. True, such extra-natural conceptions seem to be hazy and unformed, but that is doubtless because the minds which envisioned them could not find words to set forth the complete concepts-language has not yet found wherewithal to embody thoughts which are beyond the dimensions of our everyday lives.

Nevertheless, the poet is confined to the use of words as a medium for his message, and when the three-fold power of collocated words is found at its highest, that is, when meaning, sound, and movement are balanced and blended, we have a well-nigh perfect instrument of expression.

1. The Choice of Words

Does the vocabulary of the poet differ from that of the prose writer? Yes, for it is both more extensive and more limited. And yet the beginner is the one who soonest turns to high-flown, "fancy" language, in the mistaken idea that poetry concerns itself with strutting and unusual words. Examine the quotations cited in this volume and make actual test of the kinds of words used by our great English poets, and the results may prove surprising. True, poetry is lofty, but not toploftical; it is high in thought, but high-sounding words cannot elevate a commonplace idea.

In the main, therefore, the vocabulary of a poet does not differ from that of a good prose writer. Different

types of poetry call for a choice of words in harmony with the thought expression, just as in oratory, in prose, and in everyday speech; and it is this nice adjustment of language to thought which forms the first and deepest basis for good poesy. The gentle movement of the pastoral poem will naturally flow on in smooth and unimpassioned words-likeliest those not too remote from common usage and understanding. Such we find in "The Folk-Mote by the River," a narrative poem by William Morris:

It was up in the morn we rose betimes

From the hall-floor hard by the row of limes.
It was but John the Red and I,
And we were brethren of Gregory;
And Gregory the Wright was one
Of the valiant men beneath the sun,
And what he bade us that we did,
For ne'er he kept his counsel hid.

Here the only word not used ordinarily in prose is ne'er. Betimes, brethren and bade are less commonly used words, but nevertheless quite prosaic. Even heroic poetry of the most impassioned type uses few words not found in good prose, as a careful examination will show.

In what, then, does the choice of words for poetic uses differ from that of prose? In two particulars: In poetry we find a considerable number of (a) Suggestive Words, that is, words which connote more than they ordinarily mean, picture words which evoke a whole scene or suggest a comparison without actually expressing it. Such words must

be used not too freely, lest the verse give an impression of over-ornamentation and consequent heaviness and artificiality. After all, Simplicity is the handmaiden of Beauty.

Expressions like the embattled farmers, the multitudinous seas incarnadine, the vernal year, and should'ring billows, are full of suggestive richness. Similarly, the use of sug-` gestive substantives is much more frequent in poetry than in prose-Erin for Ireland, sail for vessel, and the like.

(b) Variant Words are also characteristic of poetry. Of these are the "solemn" forms of direct address—thee, thy, etc., and the formal pourest, heareth, and the like. Then, too, we find contractions such as e'en, oft, starr'd, list, mount, as distinguished from mere colloquial contractions like don't and she'll. Other important poetic variants are archaic, obsolete, and obsolescent words, such as erst, idlesse, and thither; and unusual possessive forms, such as the law's delay.

But even more important, though perhaps less frequent, than any of the foregoing variant types, are original and little-used compounds. Homer is so rich in these fresh word-pairs that we have come to term them Homeric Compounds. Shields smooth, beautiful, brazen, wellhammered, is one of his notable groupings, equalled only by his laughter-loving Aphrodite, and far-darting Apollo. Shakespeare was the supreme latter-time artist in this inventive realm, with his always-wind-obeying-deep, and many another. Carlyle also has contributed many compounds which while first used in his prose have found their way later into the poetry of others-fire-eyed Defiance, much

suffering man, and the frost-bath of Poverty, are good examples.

The constant expansion of our English tongue by new coinage, revival of archaic forms, and both adoptions and adaptations from foreign languages, is a fruitful field for the poet wherefrom to gather fresh words for his verses. Surely with so wide a variety for his choice he will wish to avoid words which are unalterably stamped as technical (steam-gauge), colloquial (can't), commonplace (handkerchief), or ridiculous (humped)—of course we are speaking now of poetry, and not of nonsense verse.

2. The Grouping of Words

But much more in the grouping of words than in their selection singly does poetry differ from prose.

(a) Sentence forms are often abbreviated and the rules of grammar in that particular abrogated, as Never night like this, in which the verb and the article are omitted. Inverted sentences are frequent, like Hushed lay the sleeping earth. But care must be used not to use inverted forms from mere caprice, as the tyro often does, thinking so to affect the poet's livery. The danger is that the occasional obscurity in great poets, which is the result of too great compression or too refined and remote suggestion, may be regarded as an essential of poetry rather than a defect, as it certainly is.

(b) Freshness in word grouping is no less important in the whole poetic line than it is in the making of apt compounds. Indeed, so precious is the space of every letter in