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！

Oscar Wilde