Atomic Fission, April 1387
Whan that Aprille, douce and pduviale.. . .
Hand halted. Ink was pending in the fork
Where two tongues divided, equal twins.
Down the hairline of the slitten quill
Language in poise.
Where two tongues divided, equal twins.
Down the hairline of the slitten quill
Language in poise.
He looked outdoors
Bn Kentish spring fresh as a marguerite?
Fresh as a day’s eye we say in Our Town?
The barnyard pinion dipped deep in the horn.
Struck, and rewrote:
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote. . . .
Struck, and rewrote:
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote. . . .
English was born.