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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
V. TO ITALY.
O Italy, how beautiful thou wert,If in thee dwelt an answerable soul!
Fair in each feature, perfect in each part,
That, that thou lack'st which should inspire the whole:
Thine are all gifts of nature, all of art;
Yet a slow sadness we cannot control
Steals, as we gaze, o'er the dejected heart,
And our checked passion meets too soon its goal.
Beyond the mark of Virtue thou hast shot
(For only Virtue's ornaments are thine)
And so fallen short of Greatness. Solid Thought,
Strength, courage, prudence—all, save Truths divine,
Thou hast corrupted. Therefore falls thy hand,
Prone, and unsceptred of its old command.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |