WHEREFORE art thou strange, and not my mother? Thou hast stolen my heart and broken it: Would that I might call thy sons 'My brother,' Call thy daughters 'Sister sweet': Lying in thy lap, not in another, Dying at thy feet. Farewell, land of love, Italy, Sister-land of Paradise: With mine own feet I have trodden thee, Have seen with mine own eyes: I remember, thou forgettest me, I remember thee. Blessed be the land that warms my heart, And the kindly clime that cheers, And the cordial faces clear from art, And the tongue sweet in mine ears: Take my heart, its truest tenderest part, Dear land, take my tears. |