Explore "Italia" by Oscar Wilde on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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, / 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.
Venice.