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!

1. Les Ballons
2. On the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria
3. Fabien Dei Franchi
4. Tristitiae
5. San Miniato

Print

4839 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version