Poem of the day

Love Is Not All
by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by need and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.



Troublingly, I've looked at five different versions of this poem online and cannot find a consensus on the correct version (Pinned down by pain or need? well may or may well? also, two "can not"s instead of "cannot"s, which seemed v unlikely). Until I consult a paper copy, this is my best guess.

What is so strong here, for me, is the duality of the acceptance of the terrible realities of torture and want and at the same time the rejection of the human condition as struggle for basic survival. It's not taking some ridiculous position that, of course, we can all follow our passions all the time and those who don't like bread can eat cake. But it is saying there is a way, without judging others, without putting our heads in the sand, to say that we hope to adhere to a way of living that does prioritize the non-material, the truly beautiful aspects of humanity.