| Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Little Book of Modern Verse. 1917. |
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| 117. “As in the Midst of Battle There Is Room” |
| | | By George Santayana |
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| AS in the midst of battle there is room | |
| For thoughts of love, and in foul sin for mirth; | |
| As gossips whisper of a trinket’s worth | |
| Spied by the death-bed’s flickering candle-gloom; | |
| As in the crevices of Cæsar’s tomb | 5 |
| The sweet herbs flourish on a little earth: | |
| So in this great disaster of our birth | |
| We can be happy, and forget our doom. | |
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| For morning, with a ray of tenderest joy | |
| Gilding the iron heaven, hides the truth, | 10 |
| And evening gently woos us to employ | |
| Our grief in idle catches. Such is youth; | |
| Till from that summer’s trance we wake, to find | |
| Despair before us, vanity behind. | |
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