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And who in time knows whither we may vent the treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores this gain read more
And who in time knows whither we may vent the treasure of our tongue, to what strange shores this gain of our best glories shall be sent, 't unknowing Nations with our stores? What worlds in the yet unformed Occident may come refined with the accents that are ours?
There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very
gesture.
There was speech in their dumbness, language in their very
gesture.
Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows
Where noun, and verb, and participle grows.
Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knows
Where noun, and verb, and participle grows.
Don Chaucer. well of English undefyled
On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
Don Chaucer. well of English undefyled
On Fame's eternall beadroll worthie to be fyled.
If language had been the creation not of poetry but of logic, we should only have one.
If language had been the creation not of poetry but of logic, we should only have one.
The coldest word was once a glowing new metaphor.
The coldest word was once a glowing new metaphor.
