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：

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

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.