O RICH and splendid soul that overflowest <br /> With light and fire caught from thy native skies!— <br /> Whose latent storm is lurid in thine eyes <br />When with august and bended brows thou throwest <br /> <br />Thy Jove-like bolt upon the world below. <br /> Woe, woe the wretch—that ever he was born! <br /> Whom once the fierce sirocco of thy scorn <br />Encircles, deadly, withering,—Ah woe! <br /> <br />But thrice-blest She, whom with one golden word <br /> Thou settest in the firmament of heaven, <br /> A happy, deathless star;—a wonder given <br />To awe-eyed mortals while thy voice is heard. <br /> <br />And she—ah me!—her name is—ITALY! <br /> Most glorious and most woful of all names! <br /> Whose sweet sound the whole world’s vast heart inflames <br />So chanted by her last great son—by thee <br /> <br /><br /><br />George William Lewis Marshall-Hall<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-giusue-carducci/
