To Europe

A glorious past, and future more than full.
From salt Atlantic - crowning Caucasus,

from crystal tundra - undulate Sahara,
united, softly spoken languages.

Creed cannot matter here, for all are true
or false, or useful, superstitious too.
Race will not care here: European though
saturnine, blond, or black, blue irises.

No eagle empire with its rending conquests,
you thoughtful country of a peace expansion.
A murmuring glade, your loose bounds lasting longest
of any bloody map yet drawn by nation.
In Story's steaming alleys you'll stand tall -
a home of many mansions: room for all


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