Incomparable Italy, farewell!

Tears not unmanly trespass to the eyes,

From thy soft touch and glance unspeakable

Compelled to turn and suffer other skies.

E’en as I leave thee, the maternal vine

Under the weight of clustering fruitage bends;

And the plump fig, beyond where tendrils twine,

Shows greener, moister, as the sap ascends.

When I return, as I most surely will,

Me will salute the thirst-dispelling grape,

Purple or opal, and when noon is still,

The snow-cold fruit provoke permitted rape.

Even, dear land, flourish thy fortunes so,

Which, formed, need only interval to grow.