Wand'ring with thee in the delicious land, <br />What visions meet me of those far-off years, <br />When all my youth's fresh springs of smiles and tears <br />Lay lock'd beneath the spell of that strong hand <br />Whose blood is in thy veins.—I gaze on thee, <br />And think on the great name thy maidhood wears— <br />That name whose sound circles this lovely shore <br />With echoes of divinest melody, <br />Of strains whose mingled grief and glory pour <br />Triumph and mourning round it evermore,— <br />That noble name, link'd to a memory <br />Brighter than the deep splendour of this sky, <br />And darker than the storms that sweep it o'er,— <br />That English name—belov'd of Italy.<br /><br />Frances Anne Kemble<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/to-lady-annabella-noel/
