Not Yet
“NOT yet,” she cried, “not yet!It is the dawning, and life looks so fair;Give me my little hour of sun and dew.Is it a sin that I should crave my share,The common sunshine and the common air,Before I go away, dark shade, with you?Not yet!
“Not yet,” she cried, “not yet!The day is hot, and noon is pulsing strong,And every hour is measured by a task;There is no time for sighing or for song.Leave me a little longer, just so longAs till my work is done,—’tis all I ask.Not yet!
“Not yet,” she cried, “not yet!Nightfall is near, and I am tired and frail;Day was too full, now resting-time has come.Let me sit still and hear the nightingale,And see the sunset colors shift and pale,Before I take the long, hard journey home.Not yet!”
And to all these in turn,Comes Death, the unbidden, universal guest,With deep and urgent meanings in his eyes,And poppied flowers upon his brow, his breast,Whispering, “Life is good, but I am best;”And never a parted soul looks back and cries,“Not yet!”
Words in this poem
- crave v. t.
- To ask with earnestness or importunity; to ask with submission or humility; to beg; to entreat; to beseech; to implore. [AS. crafian; akin to Icel. krefia, Sw. kr, Dan. kr.]
- sunshine n.
- The light of the sun, or the place where it shines; the direct rays of the sun, the place where they fall, or the warmth and light which they give.
- nightfall n.
- The close of the day.
- unbidden a.
- Not bidden; not commanded.
- poppied a.
- Mingled or interspersed with poppies. [See 1st Poppy.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Not Yet is in the public domain. This text is taken from A Few More Verses, Project Gutenberg ebook #49518; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Susan Coolidge, Not Yet, in A Few More Verses (1889), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #49518, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/coolidge-few-more-verses/not-yet.html, id L23494.
Form and metre
Not Yet is 28 lines in 4 stanzas of 7 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABCBBCA, complete in 3 of its 4 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%).
See other poems in iambic pentameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABCBBCA yetA · fairB · dewC · shareB · airB · youC · yetA
- 2 ABCBBCA yetA · strongB · taskC · songB · longB · askC · yetA
- 3 ABCBBCA yetA · frailB · comeC · nightingaleB · paleB · homeC · yetA
- 4 -ABAAB- turn · guestA · eyesB · breastA · bestA · criesB · yet
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| “NOT yet,” she cried, “not yet! | 6 | ······ |
| It is the dawning, and life looks so fair; | 10 | ···/˘····· |
| Give me my little hour of sun and dew. | 10 | ···/˘/···· |
| Is it a sin that I should crave my share, | 10 | ·········· |
| The common sunshine and the common air, | 10 | ·/˘/···/˘· |
| Before I go away, dark shade, with you? | 10 | ····˘/···· |
| Not yet! | 2 | ·· |
| “Not yet,” she cried, “not yet! | 6 | ······ |
| The day is hot, and noon is pulsing strong, | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| And every hour is measured by a task; | 10 | ·/˘/·/˘··· |
| There is no time for sighing or for song. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Leave me a little longer, just so long | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| As till my work is done,—’tis all I ask. | 10 | ·········· |
| Not yet! | 2 | ·· |
| “Not yet,” she cried, “not yet! | 6 | ······ |
| Nightfall is near, and I am tired and frail; | 10 | /······/·· |
| Day was too full, now resting-time has come. | 10 | ·····/˘··· |
| Let me sit still and hear the nightingale, | 10 | ·······/˘˘ |
| And see the sunset colors shift and pale, | 10 | ···/·/˘··· |
| Before I take the long, hard journey home. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Not yet!” | 2 | ·· |
| And to all these in turn, | 6 | ······ |
| Comes Death, the unbidden, universal guest, | 11 | ·······˘/˘· |
| With deep and urgent meanings in his eyes, | 10 | ···/˘/˘··· |
| And poppied flowers upon his brow, his breast, | 10 | ·/˘/······ |
| Whispering, “Life is good, but I am best;” | 10 | /˘˘······· |
| And never a parted soul looks back and cries, | 10 | ·/·/˘····· |
| “Not yet!” | 2 | ·· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.