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 mimic1 play
Wherein we waste our else too-crowded hours：
For all our pomp and pageantry and powers
We are but fit to delve2 the common clay，
Seeing this little isle3 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！
Oscar Wilde