"[...] Day grew, and no longer was dusk with it striving, And now here and there a few people went by. As an image of what was once eager and living Seemed the hope that had led us to live or to die. Yet nought else seemed happy; the past and its pleasure Was light, and unworthy, had been and was gone; If hope had deceived us, if hid were its treasure, Nought now would be left us of all life had won. O love, stand beside me; the sun is uprisen On the first day of London; and shame hath been here. For I saw our new life like the bars of a prison, And hope grew a-cold, and I parleyed with fear. Ah! I sadden thy face, and thy grey eyes are chiding! Yea, but life is no longer as stories of yore; From us from henceforth no fair words shall be hiding The nights of the wretched, the days of the poor. [...]".
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