Lost In Translation
‘Our Sons their Fathers’ failing Language see,
And such as Chaucer is, shall Dryden
- Alexander Pope
To file and polish verses, what a fate!
Why sharpen lines foredoomed to lose their power?
Whoever works with words, however great,
Finds fickle language dims their shining hour.
Some risk the high road’s rigour, some the low,
But, mediocre, or the worst, or best,
The medium they share, a passing show,
Will end like Caedmon’s did, and all the rest.
If you have any comments on this poem, Jerome Betts would
be pleased to hear from you.