Yet, it is true, poetry is delicious; the best prose is that

"Yet, it is true, poetry is delicious; the best prose is that which is most full of poetry." Thus spoke Virginia Woolf, seer of language and revealer of hidden depths. In this statement lies her belief that poetry is not merely a form but a spirit, not only verse but a force that infuses words with life. To call poetry "delicious" is to say it nourishes and delights the soul, as food satisfies the body. And Woolf declares that even prose, in its finest state, is elevated when it carries within itself the flavor of poetry—the rhythm, the imagery, the music of thought.

The ancients themselves knew this truth. When Plato wrote his dialogues, he clothed philosophy in language rich with metaphor and cadence, so that ideas did not march dryly but danced and sang. Marcus Aurelius, in his Meditations, wrote prose, yet it breathed with the spirit of poetry, each phrase condensed and luminous. Thus, even when men spoke in prose, they knew that its greatness was measured by how much of poetry’s essence it held.

Consider history’s great writers. Charles Dickens wrote prose, but his descriptions of fog rolling over London, or of human hearts rising from despair, pulse with poetic life. His readers did not love him merely for plots, but for the poetry within his prose. Or take the speeches of Martin Luther King Jr.—technically prose, but so saturated with poetic rhythm and vision that they ignited movements, stirred crowds, and still echo through generations. Here we see Woolf’s wisdom incarnate: prose achieves immortality only when touched by poetry.

Why is this so? Because poetry captures what facts and plain words cannot. It gives us the taste of beauty, the fragrance of truth, the warmth of emotion. Prose without poetry may inform the mind, but it rarely stirs the heart. When prose is full of poetry, it transcends information and becomes transformation. It does not merely tell; it reveals. It does not merely argue; it inspires. Poetry is the spark that makes words live beyond the page.

Woolf herself lived and wrote within this belief. Her novels, though prose, flow like rivers of poetry. In To the Lighthouse or Mrs. Dalloway, she sought not only to tell stories, but to capture the fleeting impressions of consciousness, the shimmer of light upon the mind. Her prose is infused with poetry’s rhythm, turning sentences into moments of music. To her, this was the highest form: when prose drank from the well of poetry and became delicious to the spirit.

The lesson for us is profound: seek not words that are merely correct, but words that are alive. Whether in speech or in writing, let us strive to lace our prose with the qualities of poetry—clarity, rhythm, imagery, and depth. For in so doing, our words will not only inform but also uplift, not only communicate but also inspire. Let prose be a bridge for the mind, but let poetry within it be the fire for the heart.

Practically, this means pausing to choose words that carry weight and beauty. It means reading poetry so that its rhythm lives in your voice. It means writing with the aim not only to be understood but to be felt. Even in a letter, even in a speech, even in a journal entry, one can allow poetry to breathe within prose. In this way, life itself becomes richer, for we speak and write not in mere sentences, but in streams of meaning that nourish others.

So remember, children of tomorrow: poetry is delicious, and the best prose is not its rival but its vessel. Do not divide them too sharply, for both are languages of the soul. Fill your prose with poetry, and your words will endure. Drink deeply of poetry, and your life itself will become more luminous, more musical, more full of truth. This was Woolf’s gift, and this can be ours as well.