To Milton

Milton! I think thy spirit hath passed awayFrom these white cliffs and high-embattled towers;This gorgeous fiery-coloured world of oursSeems fallen into ashes dull and grey,And the age changed unto a mimic playWherein we waste our else too-crowded hours:For all our pomp and pageantry and powersWe 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 landWhich bare a triple empire in her handWhen Cromwell spake the word Democracy!