A Week
ON Monday night I closed my door,And thought you were not as heretofore,And little cared if we met no more.
I seemed on Tuesday night to traceSomething beyond mere commonplaceIn your ideas, and heart, and face.
On Wednesday I did not opineYour life would ever be one with mine,Though if it were we should well combine.
On Thursday noon I liked you well,And fondly felt that we must dwellNot far apart, whatever befell.
On Friday it was with a thrillIn gazing towards your distant villI owned you were my dear one still.
I saw you wholly to my mindOn Saturday—even one who shrinedAll that was best of womankind.
As wing-clipt sea-gull for the seaOn Sunday night I longed for thee,Without whom life were waste to me!
Words in this poem
- opine v. t.
- To have an opinion; to judge; to think; to suppose. South. [L. opinari, p.p. opinatus; akin to opinus (in comp.) thinking, and perh. to E. apt: cf. F. opiner.]
- fondly adv.
- Foolishly. Verstegan (1673).
- dwell v. i.
- To delay; to linger. [OE. dwellen, dwelien, to err, linger, AS. dwellan to deceive, hinder, delay, dwelian to err; akin to Icel. dvelja to delay, tarry, Sw. dväljas to dwell, Dan. dv]
- vill n.
- A small collection of houses; a village. [OF. ville, vile, a village, F. ville a town, city. See Villa.]
- saturday n.
- The seventh or last day of the week; the day following Friday and preceding Sunday. [OE. Saterday, AS. Sæterdæg, Sæterndæg, Sæternesdæg, literally, Saturn's day, fr. L. Saturnus Saturn + AS. dæg day; cf. L. dies Saturni.]
- womankind n.
- The females of the human race; women, collectively.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
A Week is in the public domain. This text is taken from Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries, with Miscellaneous Pieces, Project Gutenberg ebook #2863; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Thomas Hardy, A Week, in Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries (1914), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #2863, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hardy-satires/a-week.html, id L24075.
Form and metre
A Week is 21 lines in 7 stanzas of 3 lines each. It is in rhyming couplets, 67% of the lines: octosyllabic couplets. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 86%).
See other poems in octosyllabic couplets, other poems in iambic tetrameter.
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 AAA doorA · heretoforeA · moreA
- 2 AAA traceA · commonplaceA · faceA
- 3 AAA opineA · mineA · combineA
- 4 AAA wellA · dwellA · befellA
- 5 AAA thrillA · villA · stillA
- 6 AAA mindA · shrinedA · womankindA
- 7 AAA seaA · theeA · meA
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 tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| ON Monday night I closed my door, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And thought you were not as heretofore, | 9 | ·······˘/ |
| And little cared if we met no more. | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| I seemed on Tuesday night to trace | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Something beyond mere commonplace | 8 | /˘···/˘· |
| In your ideas, and heart, and face. | 9 | ··˘/˘···· |
| On Wednesday I did not opine | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| Your life would ever be one with mine, | 8 | ···/···· |
| Though if it were we should well combine. | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| On Thursday noon I liked you well, | 8 | ·/······ |
| And fondly felt that we must dwell | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Not far apart, whatever befell. | 9 | ··˘/·/˘˘/ |
| On Friday it was with a thrill | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| In gazing towards your distant vill | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| I owned you were my dear one still. | 8 | ········ |
| I saw you wholly to my mind | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| On Saturday—even one who shrined | 8 | ·/˘˘/··· |
| All that was best of womankind. | 8 | ·····/˘˘ |
| As wing-clipt sea-gull for the sea | 8 | ········ |
| On Sunday night I longed for thee, | 8 | ·/······ |
| Without whom life were waste to me! | 8 | ········ |
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.