Classic Poem

1

I cannot count the years,
That you will drink, like me,
The cup of blood and tears,
Ere she to you appears: —
Italia, Italia shall be free!

2

You dedicate your lives
To her, and you will be
The food on which she thrives,
Till her great day arrives: —
Italia, Italia shall be free!

3

She asks you but for faith!
Your faith in her takes she
As draughts of heaven's breath,
Amid defeat and death: —
Italia, Italia shall be free!

4

I enter the black boat
Upon the wide grey sea,
Where all her set suns float;
Thence hear my voice remote: —
Italia, Italia shall be free!