Mastery of thought, which is at the foundation of an appreciation of literature, depends upon mastery of—

  1. I. Words in their special meaning.
  2. II. Allusions, or references to
  3. 1. Historical events and personages.
  4. 2. Literary masterpieces.
  5. 3. Scientific truths.
  6. 4. Biblical events and truths.
  7. 5. Mythological creations.
  8. III. Figures, of which the more important and common are those—
  9. 1. Based on comparisons:
  10. a. simile.
  11. b. metaphor.
  12. 2. Based on natural associations:
  13. a. synecdoche.
  14. b. metonymy.
  15. 3. Of apostrophe.
  16. 4. Of personification.
  17. IV. Sentences, the units of thought.
  18. V. Paragraphs, the collections of related thought units.

CHAPTER XI
Reading Poetry

Nothing so brings out the music and the structural beauty of poetry as reading it aloud, and many who have cared nothing for verse in any of its forms learn to love it when they hear it read frequently by a sympathetic voice. Children love the nursery rhymes largely because they have heard them and have caught the sound and rhythm more than the meaning. It is the lively music more than the whimsical meaning that has made the rhymes popular. When the time comes that children begin to lose their interest and consider poetry beneath them, their flagging attention often may be aroused and new interest created by simply reading new selections aloud to them and talking with them about the meaning and beauties of the poems.

On page 410 of Volume One is Longfellow’s exquisite poem, The Reaper and the Flowers. We can imagine a little family group reading this some quiet evening when the lamp throws shadows into the corners and the bed-time hour draws near. No one could call the children in on a fine summer day, and, when fresh from their play, the blood is bounding through their veins, expect them to be touched by delicate sentiment, or to appreciate musical numbers. Literature has something for every hour, every mood, every circumstance. It may be that there is one little vacant chair in this family circle, or that from some neighbor’s family a child has gone. Fear clutches at the youthful hearts and Grief shudders behind each chair. Even the warm bed in the dark room is a dread, for we have so surrounded death with mystery and terror that even the young are aghast when it is mentioned. But our best-loved poet has a cheering message for every one, and into this little group the parent brings it. In soft and sympathetic voice he reads aloud, giving the slow and gentle music of the lines time to steal into the youthful hearts.

As he reads, he pauses now and then to speak to his little audience, watching ever not to be sharp in his questionings or anything but kindly in his comments. Something like the following might be the way he brings out the meaning:

“‘There is a Reaper, whose name is Death,
And, with his sickle keen,
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.’

“A Reaper—a man walking in the grain, cutting it as he goes. Not with a machine such as we see on the farm nowadays, but with a short curved blade which the poet calls a sickle. It is a keen blade the sickle has, and with every stroke ripened grain and all the little flowers that have grown up among it fall to the ground. But the poet means more. He thinks that the Reaper is Death, that the bearded grain is the men and women who have lived to a ripe old age and who are ready to die, ready for the rewards of a long and well-spent life. But alas, the flowers fall with the ripened grain: sometimes little children must die, although dearly would we like to keep them with us.