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Oscar Wilde (1854–1900).  Poems.  1881.

15. Italia


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,         5
  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  10
  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.

VENICE.
 


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