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.