Sonnet On Approaching Italy

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.