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Never had Europe looked so old and worn
As in the dreary light of that new dawn,
Not like a face that’s strengthened and refined
By marks of deep experience or strong mind,
But sagging, seamed and veined with false sensation,
False hopes, false comforts, but most real frustration.
The shivering people scarcely knew the garden
Which all those anxious years they’d worked so hard on,
Which was to be (their landlords used to say)
Their pride and solace to their dying day.
All was transformed as by an evil Fate,
The straight seemed crooked and the crooked straight.
One glance swept over many a poor trompe l’oeil
Which would have held it spellbound yesterday.
Where were they now, the bridges all façade?
The long prospects? The houses built of card?
The winding Path of Empire – ah, how void
Of charms, with all its rosy screens destroyed!

[The Europiad, ll.534-556]

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