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    Sonnet On Approaching Italy

    by Oscar Wilde
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    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 marvel 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.

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