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