To Milton
by Oscar Wilde (1856-1900)
Milton, I think they 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?