The muffled syllables that Nature speaks <br />Fill us with deeper longing for her word; <br />She hides a meaning that the spirit seeks, <br />She makes a sweeter music than is heard. <br /> <br />A hidden light illumines all our seeing, <br />An unknown love enchants our solitude. <br />We feel and know that from the depths of being <br />Exhales an infinite, a perfect good. <br /> <br />Though the heart wear the garment of its sorrow <br />And be not happy like a naked star, <br />Yet from the thought of peace some peace we borrow, <br />Some rapture from the rapture felt afar. <br /> <br />Our heart strings are too coarse for Nature's fingers <br />Deftly to quicken as she pulses on, <br />And the harsh tremor that among them lingers <br />Will into sweeter silence die anon. <br /> <br />We catch the broken prelude and suggestion <br />Of things unuttered, needing to be sung; <br />We know the burden of them, and their question <br />Lies heavy on the heart, nor finds a tongue. <br /> <br />Till haply, lightning through the storm of ages, <br />Our sullen secret flash from sky to sky, <br />Glowing in some diviner poet's pages <br />And swelling into rapture from this sigh.<br /><br />George Santayana<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/premonition-2/
