poem: To Milton by Oscar Wilde


Milton, I think thy spirit has passed away
From these white cliffs and big embattled towers:
This gorgeous firey-colored world of ours
Seems fallen into ashes dull and gray,
And the age changed into a mimic play
Wherein we waste our else too crowded hours:
For all our pomp and pageantry of 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 are 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?

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