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Poem by Oscar Wilde


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!

1881

Oscar Wilde

Poem Theme: John Milton

Oscar Wilde's other poems:
  1. Sonnet on Hearing the Dies Irae Sung in the Sistine Chapel
  2. Tristitiae
  3. Queen Henrietta Maria
  4. Urbs Sacra Æterna
  5. E Tenebris


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