English poem
The Strife Of Tongues
by Charles L. Graves (1856–1944)
(Lines suggested by the recent demise of the inventor of Esperanto.)
As a patriotic Briton I am naturally smitten With disgust When some universal lingo By a zealous anti-Jingo Is discussed.
Some there are who hold that Spanish In the end is bound to banish Other tongues; Some again regard Slavonic As a stimulating tonic For the lungs.
I would sooner bank on Tuscan, Ay, or even on Etruscan, Than on Erse; But fanatical campaigners, Gaelic Leaguers and Sinn Feiners Find it terse.
Some are moved to have a shy at Persian, thanks to the Rubáiyát And its ease; But it’s quite another matter If you’re anxious for to chatter In Chinese.
To instruct a brainy brat in Canine or colloquial Latin May be wise; But it’s not an education As a fruitful speculation I’d advise.
French? All elegance equips it, But how oft on foreign lips it Runs awry; German, tainted, execrated, Is for ages relegated To the sty.
As for brand-new tongues invented By professors discontented With the old, Well, the prospect of a “panto” Played and sung in Esperanto Leaves me cold.