Dream fluently, still brothers, who when young <br />Took with your mother's milk the mother tongue, <br /> <br />In which pure matrix, joining world and mind, <br />You strove to leave some line of verse behind <br /> <br />Like still fresh tracks across a field of snow, <br />Not reckoning that all could melt and go.<br /><br />Richard Wilbur<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-the-etruscan-poets/
