 | The Poetical Works of Sydney Dobell |  |
When you dream
Of our Italian fatherland, it glitters
With half a hecatomb of palaces,
Each royal. Your free heart is sad. You frown.
Strike off their crowns. Salute them commonweals,
And wake up shouting ‘Glory!’ How now, Roman,
If some strong arm stretching from sea to sea
Sweep all your pasteboard kickshaws to the ocean,
And leave us the broad field of Italy
To build up Rome?
Of our Italian fatherland, it glitters
With half a hecatomb of palaces,
Each royal. Your free heart is sad. You frown.
Strike off their crowns. Salute them commonweals,
104
If some strong arm stretching from sea to sea
Sweep all your pasteboard kickshaws to the ocean,
And leave us the broad field of Italy
To build up Rome?
| The Poetical Works of Sydney Dobell | |