Italia
.
IA! 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.
Oscar Wilde
Other author posts
In The Forest
Out of the mid-wood's Into the meadow's dawn, Ivory limbed and brown-eyed, Flashes my Faun
Symphony In Yellow
An omnibus across the Crawls like a yellow butterfly, And, here and there a Shows like a little restless midge
On Easter Day
The silver trumpets rang across the Dome: The people knelt upon the ground with awe: And borne upon the necks of men I saw, Like some great God, the Holy Lord of Rome
Les Ballons
Against these turbid turquoise The light and luminous Dip and drift like satin Drift like silken butterflies;