Viva Italia!

          Italia, in thy bleeding heart
             I thought e'en hope was dead;
          That from thy scarred and prostrate form
             The spark of life had fled.

          I thought, as memory's sunset glow
             Its radiance o'er thee cast,
          That all thy glory and thy fame
             Were buried in the past.

          Twice Mistress of the world, I thought
             Thy star had set in gloom;
          That all thy shrines and monuments
             Were but thy spirit's tomb---

          The mausoleum of the world,
             Where Art her spoils might keep;
          Where pilgrims from all shrines might come,
             To wonder and to weep.

          But from thy deathlike slumber now,
             In joy I see thee wake
          And over thy long shrouded sky
             Behold the morning break.

           Along the Alps and Apennines
             Runs an electric thrill;
           A golden splendor lights once more
             Each storied vale and hill.

          And hopes, bright as thy sunny skies,
             Are o'er thy future cast;
          The future that upon thee beams,
             As glorious as thy past.

This work was published before January 1, 1925, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.