ITALIA, O Italia, upon whom The fatal gift of beauty was bestowed, Dire heritage of endless woes that loom Writ clear upon thy forehead, bitter load! O wert thou stronger or less fair, then he Haply would fear thee more and love thee less Who, though to deadly strife provoking thee, Doth pine, inflamed with thy bright loveliness! Then down the Alps to-day I'd gaze upon No armed hosts, hurled in torrential flow, No Gallic cattle drinking in the Po Red with thy blood; I would not see thee don Strange armour, flaunt another's might, Ah me, Victress or vanquished, doomed to slavery! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DREAMS by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER WITH A COPY OF HERRICK by EDMUND WILLIAM GOSSE SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 1. AT TEA by THOMAS HARDY MISSIONARY HYMN by REGINALD HEBER THE MARTYRS OF THE MAINE by RUPERT HUGHES SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELSA WERTMAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ON THE DEATH OF A CAT by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |