<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428546" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Not Yet</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">NOT yet hath Nature, lovely colorist,<br>Bestirred her from creative dream to fling<br>Soft flame upon the woods, —nay, not to dip<br>One pleading maple-tip<br>In carmine; all the waiting world is whist,<br>Alert to hear the first faint flutes of spring.<br>Not yet the tingling flood of blue and gold<br>Is poured through heaven, but o'er the misty pond,<br>Quiet as patterned silk, flushed saplings lean;<br>And the auspicious green<br>Through the deep woods and on the unpathed wold<br>Brightens in patient moss and wistful frond.<br>Not yet cascades of melody invoke<br>The holy dawn, but all the air perceives,<br>By some fine thrill, the rushing northward flight<br>Of myriad wings, despite<br>The nonchalances of this crookback oak,<br>Still clinging to its russet shreds of leaves.<br>Not yet the laughing hid-folk of the earth<br>Thrust Up white helm and golden coronet,<br>Sweet elfin host armored in gossamer,<br>But gentle tremors stir<br>The conscious mold; new beauty comes to birth<br>Under the snow's fast-melting coverlet.<br>Not yet, not yet the yearly miracle<br>Is wrought, but ecstasy is on the wing,<br>And her divine, irrevocable flight<br>Is swift as all delight.<br>The heart is hushed as for the sacring-bell,<br>Awe-smitten by expectancy of spring.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Katharine+Lee+Bates">Katharine Lee Bates</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=428546" data-title="Not Yet de Katharine Lee Bates" data-description="NOT yet hath Nature, lovely colorist, Bestirred her from creative dream to fling Soft flame upon the woods, —nay, not to dip One pleading maple-tip In carmine; all the waiting world is whist, Alert to hear the first faint flutes of spring. Not y..."></div> </div> </div>

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