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Poem by Oscar Wilde
Salve Saturnia Tellus
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.
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