Page:Writings of Oscar Wilde - Volume 01.djvu/72

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THE WRITINGS OF OSCAR WILDE.

To Milton.

Milton! I think thy spirit hath passed away  From these white cliffs, and high embattled-towers;  This gorgeous fiery-colored world of ours Seems fallen into ashes dull and gray, 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!
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