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1863–1952

XXXI

George Santayana

A brother's love, but that I chose thee out From all the world, not by the chance of birth, But in the risen splendour of thy worth, Which, like the sun, put all my stars to rout.

A lover's love, but that it bred no doubt Of love returned, no heats of flood and dearth, But, asking nothing, found in all the earth The consolation of a heart devout.

A votary's love, though with no pale and wild Imaginations did I stretch the might Of a sweet friendship and a mortal light. Thus in my love all loves are reconciled

That purest be, and in my prayer the right Of brother, lover, friend, and eremite.

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XXXI · George Santayana · Poetry Cove