Bronze Trumpets and Sea Water -- On Turning Latin into English
<poem> Alembics turn to stranger things Strange things, but never while we live Shall magic turn this bronze that sings To singing water in a sieve.
The trumpeters of Caesar's guard Salute his rigorous bastions With ordered bruit; the bronze is hard Though there is silver in the bronze.
Our mutable tongue is like the sea, Curled wave and shattering thunder-fit; Dangle in strings of sand shall be Who smooths the ripples out of it. <poem>