Anselmo (to John)

Edna St. Vincent Millay

If you live in the street called Now, in a house named Here—
If you live at number Here North Now Street let us say,
Then immediate things, discomfort, sorrow, it is clear,
Are of first importance; you could feel no other way.
But if you pitch your tent each evening nearer the town
Of your true desire, and glimpse its gates less far,
Then you lay you down on nettles, you lay you down
With vipers, and you scarcely notice where you are.
The world is not relinquished; but the world assumes
Its proper place in that perspective, is not all;
Is harsh with envy, greed, assault,—or blooms
With friendship, courage, truth, is beautiful;
Yet is at best but an inn on a thoroughfare:
Provincial, one might call the mind contented there.