Verse > Oscar Wilde > Poems

Oscar Wilde (1854–1900).  Poems.  1881.

12. Sonnet on approaching Italy

I REACHED the Alps: the soul within me burned 
  Italia, my Italia, at thy name: 
  And when from out the mountain’s heart I came 
And saw the land for which my life had yearned, 
I laughed as one who some great prize had earned:         5
  And musing on the story of thy fame 
  I watched the day, till marked with wounds of flame 
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned, 
The pine-trees waved as waves a woman’s hair, 
  And in the orchards every twining spray  10
  Was breaking into flakes of blossoming foam: 
But when I knew that far away at Rome 
  In evil bonds a second Peter lay, 
  I wept to see the land so very fair.




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