Explore "To Milton" by Oscar Wilde on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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!