Before
BEHOLD me waiting—waiting for the knife.A little while, and at a leap I stormThe thick, sweet mystery of chloroform,The drunken dark, the little death-in-life.The gods are good to me: I have no wife,No innocent child, to think of as I nearThe fateful minute; nothing all-too dearUnmans me for my bout of passive strife.Yet am I tremulous and a trifle sick,And, face to face with chance, I shrink a little:My hopes are strong, my will is something weak.Here comes the basket? Thank you. I am ready.But, gentlemen my porters, life is brittle:You carry Cæsar and his fortunes—steady!
Words in this poem
- fateful a.
- Having the power of serving or accomplishing fate.
- strife n.
- The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
- thank n.
- A expression of gratitude; an acknowledgment expressive of a sense of favor or kindness received; obligation, claim, or desert, or gratitude; -- now generally used in the plural. [AS. Þanc, Þonc, thanks, favor, thought; akin to OS. thank favor, pleasure, thanks, D. & G. dank thanks, Icel. Þ\'94kk, Dan. tak, Sw. tack, Goth. Þagks thanks; -]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Before is in the public domain. This text is taken from Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #1568; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: W. E. Henley, Before, in Poems (1898), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1568, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/henley-poems/before.html, id L12325.
Form and metre
Before is 14 lines in a single stanza. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 89%). 92% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 10.1 syllables. 4 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 21% 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 ABBAACCA-D-EDE knifeA · stormB · chloroformB · lifeA · wifeA · nearC · dearC · strifeA · sick · littleD · weak · readyE · brittleD · steadyE
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 |
|---|---|---|
| BEHOLD me waiting—waiting for the knife. | 10 | ˘/·/˘/˘··· |
| A little while, and at a leap I storm | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| The thick, sweet mystery of chloroform, | 9 | ···/˘·/˘· |
| The drunken dark, the little death-in-life. | 10 | ·/˘··/˘··· |
| The gods are good to me: I have no wife, | 10 | ·········· |
| No innocent child, to think of as I near | 10 | ·/˘······· |
| The fateful minute; nothing all-too dear | 10 | ·/˘/˘/˘··· |
| Unmans me for my bout of passive strife. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Yet am I tremulous and a trifle sick, | 10 | ···/˘··/˘· |
| And, face to face with chance, I shrink a little: | 11 | ·········/˘ |
| My hopes are strong, my will is something weak. | 10 | ·······/˘· |
| Here comes the basket? Thank you. I am ready. | 11 | ···/˘····/˘ |
| But, gentlemen my porters, life is brittle: | 10 | ·/˘·/˘··/˘ |
| You carry Cæsar and his fortunes—steady! | 10 | ·/˘···/˘/˘ |
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.