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				Title:     To Milton 
			    Author: Oscar Wilde [More Titles by Wilde ]		                
			     Milton!  I think thy spirit hath passed awayFrom 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!
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 -THE END-
 To Milton, a poem by Oscar Wilde
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