Page:Writings of Oscar Wilde - Volume 01.djvu/77

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THEORETIKOS.
63

THEORETIKOS.

This mighty empire hath but feet of clay;  Of all its ancient chivalry and might  Our little island is forsaken quite: Some enemy hath stolen its crown of bay,And from its hills that voice hath passed away  Which spake of Freedom: O come out of it,  Come out of it, my Soul, thou art not fit For this vile traffic-house, where day by day  Wisdom and reverence are sold at mart,  And the rude people rage with ignorant cries Against an heritage of centuries.  It mars my calm: wherefore in dreams of Art  And loftiest culture I would stand apart, Neither for God, nor for His enemies.
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