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!