England's Enemy

She stands like one with mazy cares distraught.

Around her sudden angry storm-clouds rise,

Dark, dark! and comes the look into her eyes

Of eld. All that herself herself hath taught

She cons anew, that courage new be caught

Of courage old. Yet comfortless still lies

Snake-like in her warm bosom (vexed with sighs)

Fear of the greatness that herself hath wrought.

No glory but her memory teems with it,

No beauty that's not hers; more nobly none

Of all her sisters runs with her; but she

For her old destiny dreamSherself unfit,

And fumbling at the future doubtfully

Muses how Rome of Romans was undone.

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