'There is nothing to do with a day except to live it'

Another day begins. Here is a starting-the-day poem by the great Richard Wilbur. It's just the kind of celebration of the domestic and the quotidian that got him such a bad reputation among the more 'advanced' taste-makers – more fools them: this is no simple celebration. C MinorBeethoven during breakfast? The human soul,Though stalked by hollow pluckings, winning out(While bran-flakes crackle in the cereal bowl) Over despair and doubt?You are right to switch it off and let the dayBegin at hazard, perhaps with pecker-knocksIn the sugar bush, the rancour of a jay, Or in the letter boxSomething that makes you pause and with fixed shadowStand on the driveway-gravel, your bent headScanning the snatched pages until the sad Or fortunate news is read.The day's work will be disappointing or not,Giving at least some pleasure in taking pains.One of us, hoeing in the garden plot (Unless, of course, it rains)May rejoice at the knitting of light in fennel-plumesAnd dew like mercury on…