Classic Poem

The English spirit is changed, or changing fast.
Gold-worshippers, gold-seekers, we forget
Heroes, to whom we owe love's deathless debt,
And part, without one soul-pang, from our past.
Is it that our fortune's tide hath turned at last?
Is it that our star, sublime so long, hath set,
Making man's history one immense regret?
For England's fate involves a fate more vast.

Australian valour, Canada's stern deeds,
We greet on penny trumpets, with gay walls,
With flaming lanterns, reeling through lewd streets
Where woman perishes and no heart heeds.
The nation's true pulse moves with sluggish beats,
But militant madness thrills our Music Halls.