To Milton

Milton！ I think thy spirit hath passed away

From these white cliffs and high-embattled towers；

This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of ours

Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey，

And the age changed unto a mimic play

Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours：

For all our pomp and pageantry and powers

We are but fit to delve the common clay，

Seeing this little isle on which we stand，

This England， this sea-lion of the sea，

By ignorant demagogues is held in fee，

Who love her not： Dear God！ is this the land

Which bare a triple empire in her hand

When Cromwell spake the word Democracy！

Oscar Wilde