Sonnet On Approaching Italy

Oscar Wilde

I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned
    Italia, my Italia, at thy name:
    And when from out the mountain's heart I came
And saw the land for which my life had yearned,
I laughed as one who some great prize had earned:
    And musing on the story of thy fame
    I watched the day, till marked with wounds of flame
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned,
The pine-trees waved as waves a woman's hair,
    And in the orchards every twining spray
    Was breaking into flakes of blossoming foam:
But when I knew that far away at Rome
    In evil bonds a second Peter lay,
    I wept to see the land so very fair.

TURIN.