Nothing and Something. 43
It was something to him when in prison he layThe victim of drink, life ebbing away;And thought of his wretched child and wife,And the mournful wreck of his wasted life.
It is nothing to me, the merchant said,As over his ledger he bent his head;I'm busy to-day with tare and tret,And I have no time to fume and fret.It was something to him when over the wireA message came from a funeral pyre--A drunken conductor had wrecked a train,And his wife and child were among the slain.
It is nothing to me, the voter said,The party's loss is my greatest dread;Then gave his vote for the liquor trade,Though hearts were crushed and drunkardsmade.It was something to him in after life,When his daughter became a drunkard's wifeAnd her hungry children cried for bread,And trembled to hear their father's tread.
Is it nothing for us to idly sleepWhile the cohorts of death their vigils keep?To gather the young and thoughtless in,And grind in our midst a grist of sin?
Words in this poem
- tret
- 3d pers. sing. pres. of Tread, for treadeth.
- fume n.
- Exhalation; volatile matter (esp. noxious vapor or smoke) ascending in a dense body; smoke; vapor; reek; as, the fumes of tobacco. [L. fumus; akin to Skr. dh smoke, dh to shake, fan a flame, cf. Gr. fum smoke, F. fumée. Cf. Dust, n., Femerell, Thyme.]
- pyre n.
- A funeral pile; a combustible heap on which the dead are burned; hence, any pile to be burnt. [L. pure, Gr. Fire.]
- grist n.
- Ground corn; that which is ground at one time; as much grain as is carried to the mill at one time, or the meal it produces. [AS. grist, fr. grindan. See Grind.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Nothing and Something. 43 is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #679; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Nothing and Something. 43, in Poems (1854–1871), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #679, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/harper-poems/nothing-and-something-43.html, id L10579.
Form and metre
Nothing and Something. 43 is 25 lines in 4 stanzas. The rhyme scheme is AABB, complete in 2 of its 4 stanzas. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 76%). 76% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 9.2 syllables. 1 line ends on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 20% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
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 AABB layA · awayA · wifeB · lifeB
- 2 AA--BBCC saidA · headA · tret · fret · wireB · pyreB · trainC · slainC
- 3 AAB-BCCAA saidA · dreadA · tradeB · drunkards · madeB · lifeC · wifeC · breadA · treadA
- 4 AABB sleepA · keepA · inB · sinB
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 |
|---|---|---|
| It was something to him when in prison he lay | 12 | ··/˘····/˘·· |
| The victim of drink, life ebbing away; | 10 | ·/˘···/˘˘/ |
| And thought of his wretched child and wife, | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| And the mournful wreck of his wasted life. | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| It is nothing to me, the merchant said, | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| As over his ledger he bent his head; | 9 | ···/˘···· |
| I'm busy to-day with tare and tret, | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| And I have no time to fume and fret. | 9 | ········· |
| It was something to him when over the wire | 10 | ··/˘·····/ |
| A message came from a funeral pyre-- | 9 | ·/˘···/˘/ |
| A drunken conductor had wrecked a train, | 10 | ·/˘˘/˘···· |
| And his wife and child were among the slain. | 10 | ·········· |
| It is nothing to me, the voter said, | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| The party's loss is my greatest dread; | 9 | ·/˘···/˘· |
| Then gave his vote for the liquor trade, | 9 | ······/˘· |
| Though hearts were crushed and drunkards | 8 | ····˘·/˘ |
| made. | 1 | · |
| It was something to him in after life, | 10 | ··/˘······ |
| When his daughter became a drunkard's wife | 10 | ··/˘˘/·/˘· |
| And her hungry children cried for bread, | 9 | ··/˘/˘··· |
| And trembled to hear their father's tread. | 9 | ·/˘···/˘· |
| Is it nothing for us to idly sleep | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| While the cohorts of death their vigils keep? | 10 | ··/˘···/˘· |
| To gather the young and thoughtless in, | 9 | ·/˘···/˘· |
| And grind in our midst a grist of sin? | 9 | ···/····· |
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.