Wilde, Oscar . Eleutheria
Electronic Text Center, University of Virginia Library

| Table of Contents for this work |
| All on-line databases | Etext Center Homepage |

THEORETIKOS



This mighty empire hath but feet of clay;
     Of all its ancient chivalry and might
     Our little island is forsaken quite:
Some enemy hath stolen its crown of bay,
And from its hills that voice hath passed away
     Which spake of Freedom: O come out of it,
     Come out of it, my Soul, thou art not fit
For this vile traffic-house, where day by day
     Wisdom and reverence are sold at mart,
     And the rude people rage with ignorant cries
Against an heritage of centuries.
     It mars my calm: wherefore in dreams of Art
     And loftiest culture I would stand apart,
Neither for God, nor for His enemies.