To Guy Murchie
Cambridge, Massachusetts. November 20, 1894
Dear Murchie,
Here is a bad consequence of our talk of the other night. However, being “the only begetter of this ensuing sonnet,” you should be presented with the child. Yours ever,
GS
You thought: “The vapourous world on which I gaze
Why is it beautiful? Why in the dome
Of silent heaven do the planets roam
In patient reckoning of the hallowed days?
Why do the resinous pine woods, the bays
Grey ’twixt the islets, or the pregnant loam
With keen sweet voices speak to me of home?
’Tis God within them hearkens to my praise.”
To yours he may: to me the frozen sod
And barren stars are piteous, and no God
Called to me ever from the sullen sea.
Yet have I known him, in my soul apart
Worshiped him long, and found him in your heart.
What higher heaven should his dwelling be?
—November 20. ’94.
From The Letters of George Santayana: Book One, [1868]-1909. Cambridge, MA: The MIT Press, 2001.
Location of manuscript: Collection of Guy Murchie, Jr.