Sonnet XVII
There was a time when in the teeth of fate
I flung the challenge of the spirit’s right;
The child, the dreamer of that visioned night,
Woke, and was humbled unto man’s estate.
A slave I am; on sun and moon I wait,
Who heed not that I live upon their light.
Me they despise, but are themselves so bright
They flood my heart with love, and quench my hate.
O subtle Beauty, sweet persuasive worth
That didst the love of being first inspire,
We do thee homage both in death and birth.
Thirsting for thee, we die in thy great dearth,
Or borrow breath of infinite desire
To chase thine image through the haunted earth.
Other works by George Santayana...
