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1863–1952

XXXIV

George Santayana

Though destiny half broke her cruel bars, Herself contriving we should meet on earth, And with thy beauty fed my spirit's dearth And tuned to love the ages’ many jars,

Yet there is potency in natal stars; And we were far divided in our birth By nature's gifts and half the planet's girth, And speech, and faith, and blood, and ancient wars.

Alas! thy very radiance made division, Thy youth, thy friends, and all men's eyes that wooed Thy simple kindness came as in derision Of so much love and so much solitude;

Or did the good gods order all to show How far the single strength of love can go?

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XXXIV · George Santayana · Poetry Cove