Italia, my Italia, at thy name:
And saw the land for which my life had yearned,
And musing on the story of thy fame
The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned
And in the orchards every twining spray
But when I knew that far away at Rome
I wept to see the land so very fair.
Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.
Need help? firstname.lastname@example.org