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.

Turin.