We are the inarticulate who know No language save the words to curse our fate, Who to our daily tasks unending go Void of that beauty given to translate The earth into a garden blooming fair, The stone into a temple, and the pain And love, the pleasure and the load of care Into compassion and to love again: Who in the cosmos do not feel our part, Who do not make, or recreate, a song, We have no balm for our own aching heart, No alchemy for our unwanted wrong. Oh God, forgive us inarticulate Who have no language save to curse our fate. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAMPUS SONNET: RETURN - 1917 by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THE EXISTING POOL by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE MOTHER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON YOUTH'S PROGENY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPECIAL PLEADING by SIDNEY LANIER THE GARDEN BY MOONLIGHT by AMY LOWELL |