“What a writer asks of his reader is not so much to like as to listen…”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, also known as Americas Poet, was born in 1807 in Maine. He was criticized for writing poetry that was too sentimental. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that usually what makes the BEST poetry? Perhaps there was a reason why he wrote of such sentimentalities…? At the age of three, Henry was sent off to attend a dame school. Dame schools were small schools independently run by (you guessed it!) a dame, for a small fee. The children were taught reading and math, along with some household tasks, such as sewing. He earned a lovely reputation early on and was remarked to be very gifted, learning Latin and even publishing his first poem by the age of 13.

At 15 years old, Henry enrolled in Bowdoin College. It was here that he met Nathaniel Hawthorne. These two had quite a bit in common, considering they were both romantic, poetic souls, right from the womb! Henry was indeed longing to live a life of imaginative expression . He wrote to his father during his senior year revealing, “I will not disguise it in the least…the fact is, I most eagerly aspire after future eminence in literature, my whole soul burns most ardently after it, and every earthly thought centres in it…I am almost confident in believing, that if I can ever rise in the world it must be by the exercise of my talents in the wide field of literature.“

I get it Henry, I do! His professor encouraged him to submit his poems and proses to newspapers and magazines. All the more chance to get published, right? He ended up successfully publishing over 40 poems during 1824-1825. Upon graduating in 1825, he was offered a job as a professor of modern language, IF he was willing to travel to Europe to learn French, Spanish and Italian. His father had to fork up $2,604.24 (the equivalent of over $67k today). Gulp. Henry was gone for three years, but during his time in Madrid he met a successful writer, Washington Irving. Washington encouraged Henry to chase his passion and natural talent-he needed to write! This led to Henry turning down the professorship offer as the salary just didn’t match the duties expected of him. Upon reaching out to the president of Bowdoin and expressing his dissatisfaction, this resulted in a bump up in salary of $200, PLUS the opportunity to be the college librarian, earning an extra $100, with only 1 hour of work put in. Um, I’d say that’s a pretty pleasant offer. Did he accept? He did! Good call, Henry! Though he did struggle feeling content with his position and grew disgusted with just the sight of ink and paper!

He attempted to join a literary group in New York and was offered an editorial position there, but this position would not be coming with a yummy salary. He passed and stuck it out…dreading most days as a professor. At 24, Henry said, “I do” to an old childhood friend. Mary and Henry settled in Brunswick, with hopes of navigating away from the area in the future. Henry published several prose pieces during this time of his life. A few years later, he was offered a professorship of modern languages from the president of Harvard. He would need to travel again though, alas, the pair fled off to explore and learn! Henry learned Dutch, Danish, Swedish, Finnish and Icelandic.

Mary was pregnant during this time and about 6 months in, she suffered a miscarriage. Her young body of 22 became irreversibly ill and Mary was unable to recover fully. She passed away November 29^th, 1835. Her death broke Henry for quite some time. Henry wrote: “One thought occupies me night and day…She is dead – She is dead! All day I am weary and sad”. Three years after her passing, he published a poem entitled “Footsteps of Angels”, in memory of Mary. Check this one out guys….it’s a tearjerker. Henry returned home one less and began his professorship at Harvard.

He  was well liked as a professor, but he loathed being a playmate for boys, “rather than grappling with men’s minds”. This is when our romantic Henry met Fanny. She was the daughter of a Boston industrialist and quite independent. She made it clear that she was not interested in marriage. But still, the two courted for some time. In July 1839, Henry wrote to a friend: “Victory hangs doubtful. The lady says she will not! I say she shall! It is not pride, but the madness of passion”. A long, maddening seven years later, Henry received a letter from Fanny, FINALLY agreeing to his offer. He was so excited he couldn’t bear sit in a carriage to travel to her. Instead, he took the 90-minute trek by foot, indubitably, to calm his jitters and settle down a smidge. They quickly married (thankfully… poor Henry) and Fanny’s father bought the pair a beautiful home that remained Henry’s home all of his years.

Henry fell more and more in love with Fanny each day. In 1845 he wrote a poem called, “The Evening Star”, dedicated to Fanny. If he ever went out to functions without her on his arm, he noted “The lights seemed dimmer, the music sadder, the flowers fewer, and the women less fair.” Aw, Henry. Told ya! A true romantic, that guy! After 6 children were born and unanimously celebrated, and 16 years of marriage had passed, Fanny was putting locks of her children’s hair into envelopes for safekeeping. Unlike today, back then one would seal envelopes with hot wax. This was indeed quite the process.

Henry was asleep, assumingly so with a smile on his face. In her sentimental tasks of safeguarding her sweet children’s locks, Fanny somehow got too close to the flame of the candle. Her dress caught fire and upon being woke by the commotion, Henry awoke, throwing a rug over the burning dress. The rug was too small and he covered her with his body in efforts of quenching the flame. The fire was finally put out, but not before severely burning Fanny. She was taken to her room and a doctor immediately came to assist. She passed away the next morning. After all the hope they had for everlasting happiness, now this? Henry couldn’t attend the funeral due to the burns he experienced. He had facial burns and scarring, which lead to Henry’s well recognized, distinguished beard (intended to conceal his facial scars). After processing her absence, he expressed his emotion as “inwardly bleeding to death” and started taking opium to deal with the grief.

During the 1860’s, Henry was keeping busy as a strong sponsor of abolitionism and prayed for reconciliation after the American Civil War. In his personal journal he wrote, “I have only one desire; and that is for harmony, and a frank and honest understanding between North and South“.

In 1882, Henry took his rest that evening, despite dealing with intense stomach pain. For several days, he would wake up and go to bed suffering. He continued to take opium to deal with the pain, until he passed March 24^th, 1882. Henry was suffering from peritonitis which is caused from perforation of the intestinal tract and results in relentless pain and swelling of the abdomen. Not surprisingly, he wanted to be buried with both of his wives and is laid to rest in Cambridge, Massachusetts. His last few years were spent translating the poetry of Michelangelo and keeping to the solitary walls of his home.

Henry was a writer who experimented with different styles. His talent is versatile and he would ponder over his ideas for lengthy periods, and then settle on the metrical form. Henry expressed, “What a writer asks of his reader is not so much to like as to listen“. Bravo, Henry. Very well put. Henry earned a solid reputation of being a gentle, poetic soul, who had an absolute sweetness, simplicity, and modesty. His natural talent, open passion and tender heart resulted in Henry becoming one of America’s most admired poets. The loss of his second wife triggered isolation and depression. He was after all, a true romantic and heartbreak is real. I, for one only admire him more because of his depth, love and undying devotion to those he truly cared for, and his ardent yearning to express it.