On hearing Milton read

we were words first
tongues are not just what we speak
but are the total of our speech
holding all the things we can think to seek
tongues naming things we thirst

the written word is strange
I can not place my conscious mind
the words blur as my mind recites
but he who was blessed with being blind
could hear the voices true pure range

the written word is a copy far away
but spoken text brings sprits that rise
and through a nations true pronunciation
dry old text of Milton touches the sky
and with words, spoken in a blind mouth, he does define the fullest day

Speak Milton, for I am tired of reading
Speak Milton, for I am tired of Whitman's words
Speak Milton, the ancient English tongue new borne again
Speak Milton, and break our academic cords
Speak Milton, for inside me your heart is still beating.