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...ABU SALAMMAMM - A SONG OF EMPIRE by EZRA POUND TO BE CLOSELY WRITTEN ON A SMALL PIECE OF PAPER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS TO DAFFODILS by ROBERT HERRICK SUMMER STORM by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL UPON THE CIRCUMCISION by JOHN MILTON |