George Santayana Poems
|2.||My Heart Rebels||11/7/2015|
|3.||Before A Statue Of Achilles||4/11/2012|
|4.||On A Piece Of Tapestry||4/11/2012|
|6.||To. W. P.||4/21/2010|
|7.||I Would I Might Forget That I Am I||4/21/2010|
|11.||We Needs Must Be Divided In The Tomb||1/4/2003|
|12.||Slowly The Black Earth Gains||1/3/2003|
|15.||As In The Midst Of Battle There Is Room||1/4/2003|
|16.||There May Be Chaos Still Around The World||1/3/2003|
|18.||The Power Of Art||1/3/2003|
|20.||Slow And Reluctant Was The Long Descent||1/3/2003|
|23.||The Poet's Testament||1/3/2003|
The muffled syllables that Nature speaks
Fill us with deeper longing for her word;
She hides a meaning that the spirit seeks,
She makes a sweeter music than is heard.
A hidden light illumines all our seeing,
An unknown love enchants our solitude.
We feel and know that from the depths of being
Exhales an infinite, a perfect good.
Though the heart wear the garment of its sorrow
And be not happy like a naked star,
Yet from the thought of peace some peace we borrow,
Some rapture from the rapture felt afar.
Our heart strings are too coarse ...
The Power Of Art
Not human art, but living gods alone
Can fashion beauties that by changing live,--
Her buds to spring, his fruits to autumn give,
To earth her fountains in her heart of stone;
But these in their begetting are o'erthrown,
Nor may the sentenced minutes find reprieve;
And summer in the blush of joy must grieve
To shed his flaunting crown of petals blown.
We to our works may not impart our breath,