Italia! thou art fallen, though with sheen
Of battle-spears thy clamorous armies stride
From the north Alps to the Sicilian tide!
Ay! fallen, though the nations hail thee Queen
Because rich gold in every town is seen,
And on thy sapphire-lake in tossing pride
Of wind-filled vans thy myriad galleys ride
Beneath one flag of red and white and green.
O Fair and Strong! O Strong and Fair in vain!
Look southward where Rome's desecrated town
Lies mourning for her God-anointed King!
Look heaven-ward! shall God allow this thing?
Nay! but some flame-girt Raphael shall come down,
And smite the Spoiler with the sword of pain.
|About the poet|
|By the same poet|
|The Ballad of Reading Gaol|
|Sonnet to Liberty|
|On the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria|
|Libertatis Sacra Fames|
|The Garden Of Eros|
|Sonnet On Approaching Italy|
|Ave Maria Gratia Plena|
|Holy Week at Genoa|
|Urbs Sacra Aeterna|
|Sonnet on Hearing the Dies Irae Sung in the Sistine Chapel|
|Oscar Wilde at amazon.co.uk|