Littell's Living Age/Volume 133/Issue 1713/Not Yet

For works with similar titles, see Not Yet.


Not yet, not yet, the light;
Under ground, out of sight,
Like moles, we blindly toil
On,—though we know not where;
Some day the upper air,
The sun, and all things fair,
We reach through the dark soil.

Beatrix L. Tollemache.