The Rivals

On a night of whirling snow 
When every twig and star is dead 
There is a house where I can go  
And knock and enter and be fed

With fire and wine; and as we grumble  
Winter ceases on the panes.  
The outer heights of darkness tumble  
Down and in upon our brains,

And sitting there so bitter-bright 
We build a season of our own— 
Of cynic ice and sudden white 
Blasts of understanding blown.

Credit

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on February 30, 2025, by the Academy of American Poets.

About this Poem

“The Rivals” appears in 7 P.M. & Other Poems (Albert & Charles Boni, 1926) by Mark Van Doren. In his essay, “Literature and Propaganda” (Virginia Quarterly Review, Spring 1938, Vol. 14, No. 2), Van Doren wrote: “It can be said that every piece of literature is propaganda of a kind. The lyric poet, merely for assuming the importance of his theme, can be charged with suggesting that other themes are of less importance or of no importance at all; the sonneteer who continues to address his mistress’s eyebrow can be and is accused of defending the status quo. It can also be said that every piece of propaganda is literature of a kind. The librarian, the collector of pamphlets, and whoever else is interested in all that is being thought and said—these ask, What is literature? and do not wait for an answer. It is a good question, and so is another one: What is propaganda? There is even a third: What is the difference between them, and is this difference absolute?”