I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned,
Italia, my Italia, at thy name: And when from out of 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: And musing on the marvel 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 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. Oscar Wilde, Turin. I think this trip I'd like to pretend to be an intellectual.
1 Comment
Mom
3/18/2013 02:01:13 am
Beautiful poem. Thanks for sharing. Love you.
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