Italia! Oh Italia! thou who hast The fatal gift of beauty, which became A funeral dower of present woes and past, On thy sweet brow is sorrow plow'd by shame, And annals graved in characters of flame. Oh, God! that thou wert in thy nakedness Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim Thy right, and awe the robbers back, who press To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress; Then might'st thou more appal, or less desired, Be homely and be peaceful, undeplored For thy destructive charms; then, still untired, Would not be seen the armed torrents pour'd Down the steep Alps; nor would the hostile horde Of many-nation'd spoilers from the Po Quaff blood and water; nor the stranger's sword Be thy sad weapon of defense, and so Victor or vanquished, thou the slave of friend or foe. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON READING -- . by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE HALIBUT ON WHICH I DINED by WILLIAM COWPER TWO SONGS: 2 by CECIL DAY LEWIS LUCIFER IN STARLIGHT by GEORGE MEREDITH THE LAND O' THE LEAL by CAROLINA OLIPHANT NAIRNE SOMETIMES WITH ONE I LOVE by WALT WHITMAN PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 53. ALLAH-AL-WAKIL by EDWIN ARNOLD TO THE SHAH (2) by AWHAD AD-DIN 'ALI IBN VAHID MUHAMMAD KHAVARANI |