English poem
To Italy
O ITALY of chiming bells, Of pilgrim shrines and holy wells, Of incense mist and secret prayers, Profound and sweet as scented airs Blown from a field of lily flowers!
O Italy of pagan vine, That thrills with sap of sun-born wine, Drenching the Christian soul with red Warm liquid of a faith long dead, Wafting it back to sensuous hours.
No mortal woman ever held Such sweet inconstancies, or welled With such hot springs of turbid fire; No being throbbed with such desire, Thy very air is ecstacy!
O pagan goddess, from whose lips The gentle Christian worship slips, I fear thee, knowing what thou art Yet I adore thee; take my heart I am thy lover, Italy!