Chosen: Appreciated Words, Rejected Premise
The Choice by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) The intellect of man is forced to choose perfection of the life, or of the work, And if it take the second must refuse A heavenly mansion, raging in the dark. When all that story's finished, what's the news? In luck or out the toil has left its mark: That old perplexity an empty purse, Or the day's vanity, the night's remorse. I found the first four lines of this poem as the section marker of a book I am currently reading and wanted to know more. While I relish the clever and succinct use of rich words, I don't find truth in Yeats' inherent choice between life and work. Isn't work the action of living?