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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!

 
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About the poet
Oscar Wilde
 
By the same poet
The Ballad of Reading Gaol
Helas!
Sonnet to Liberty
Ave Imperatrix
Louis Napoleon
On the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria
Quantum Mutata
Libertatis Sacra Fames
Theoretikos
The Garden Of Eros
Requiescat
Sonnet On Approaching Italy
San Miniato
Ave Maria Gratia Plena
Italia
Holy Week at Genoa
Rome Unvisited
Urbs Sacra Aeterna
Sonnet on Hearing the Dies Irae Sung in the Sistine Chapel
Easter Day
E Tenebris
Vita Nuova
 
Related books
Oscar Wilde at amazon.com


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