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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473318" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Theoretikos</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=473318" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">THIS mighty empire hath but feet of clay:<br> Of all its ancient chivalry and might<br> Our little island is forsaken quite:<br> Some enemy hath stolen its crown of bay,<br> And from its hills that voice hath passed away<br> Which spake of Freedom: O come out of it,<br> Come out of it, my Soul, thou art not fit<br> For this vile traffic-house, where day by day<br> Wisdom and reverence are sold at mart,<br> And the rude people rage with ignorant cries<br> Against an heritage of centuries.<br> It mars my calm: wherefore in dreams of Art<br> And loftiest culture I would stand apart,<br> Neither for God, nor for his enemies.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Oscar+Wilde">Oscar Wilde</a></strong></div>

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