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“Our mother tongue, so far ahead of me, Displays her goods, hints at each bond and link, Provides the means, leaves it to us to think, Proffers the possibles, balanced mutually, To be used or not, as our designs elect, To be tried out, taken up or in or on, Scrapped or transformed past recognition, Though she sustains, she’s too wise to direct. Ineffably regenerative, how does she know So much more than we can? How hold such store For our recovery, for what must come before Our instauration, that future we will owe To what? To whom? To countless of our kind, Who, tending meanings, grew Man’s unknown Mind.” — Ivor A. Richards
Our mother tongue, so far ahead of me,
Displays her goods, hints at each bond and link, Provides the means, leaves it to us to think,
Proffers the possibles, balanced mutually,
To be used or not, as our designs elect,
To be tried out, taken up or in or on, Scrapped or transformed past recognition,
Though she sustains, she’s too wise to direct.
Ineffably regenerative, how does she know
So much more than we can? How hold such store For our recovery, for what must come before
Our instauration, that future we will owe
To what? To whom? To countless of our kind,
Who, tending meanings, grew Man’s unknown Mind.