The Old Language

R. S. Thomas

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England, what have you done to make the speech
My fathers used a stranger to my lips,
An offence to the ear, a shackle on the tongue
That would fit new thoughts to an abiding tune?
Answer me now. The workshop where they wrought
Stands idle, and thick dust covers their tools.
The blue metal of streams, the copper and gold
Seams in the wood are all unquarried; the leaves'
Intricate filigree falls, and who shall renew
Its brisk pattern? When spring wakens the hearts
Of the young children to sing, what song shall be theirs?

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Comments1
  • quincycrook6769

    WOW, THIS VERSE REALLY GOT ME THINKING. DID THIS HAPPEN TO ALL OF US OR JUST THE POET? NOT SURE... REALLY DEEP THOUGH.