Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506380" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Italian In England, The</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">That second time they hunted me<br>From hill to plain, from shore to sea,<br>And Austria, hounding far and wide<br>Her blood-hounds thro' the country-side,<br>Breathed hot and instant on my trace,---<br>I made six days a hiding-place<br>Of that dry green old aqueduct<br>Where I and Charles, when boys, have plucked<br>The fire-flies from the roof above,<br>Bright creeping thro' the moss they love:<br>---How long it seems since Charles was lost!<br>Six days the soldiers crossed and crossed<br>The country in my very sight;<br>And when that peril ceased at night,<br>The sky broke out in red dismay<br>With signal fires; well, there I lay<br>Close covered o'er in my recess,<br>Up to the neck in ferns and cress,<br>Thinking on Metternich our friend,<br>And Charles's miserable end,<br>And much beside, two days; the third,<br>Hunger o'ercame me when I heard<br>The peasants from the village go<br>To work among the maize; you know,<br>With us in Lombardy, they bring<br>Provisions packed on mules, a string<br>With little bells that cheer their task,<br>And casks, and boughs on every cask<br>To keep the sun's heat from the wine;<br>These I let pass in jingling line,<br>And, close on them, dear noisy crew,<br>The peasants from the village, too;<br>For at the very rear would troop<br>Their wives and sisters in a group<br>To help, I knew. When these had passed,<br>I threw my glove to strike the last,<br>Taking the chance: she did not start,<br>Much less cry out, but stooped apart,<br>One instant rapidly glanced round,<br>And saw me beckon from the ground.<br>A wild bush grows and hides my crypt;<br>She picked my glove up while she stripped<br>A branch off, then rejoined the rest<br>With that; my glove lay in her breast.<br>Then I drew breath; they disappeared:<br>It was for Italy I feared.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> An hour, and she returned alone<br>Exactly where my glove was thrown.<br>Meanwhile came many thoughts: on me<br>Rested the hopes of Italy.<br>I had devised a certain tale<br>Which, when 'twas told her, could not fail<br>Persuade a peasant of its truth;<br>I meant to call a freak of youth<br>This hiding, and give hopes of pay,<br>And no temptation to betray.<br>But when I saw that woman's face,<br>Its calm simplicity of grace,<br>Our Italy's own attitude<br>In which she walked thus far, and stood,<br>Planting each naked foot so firm,<br>To crush the snake and spare the worm---<br>At first sight of her eyes, I said,<br>``I am that man upon whose head<br>``They fix the price, because I hate<br>``The Austrians over us: the State<br>``Will give you gold---oh, gold so much!---<br>``If you betray me to their clutch,<br>``And be your death, for aught I know,<br>``If once they find you saved their foe.<br>``Now, you must bring me food and drink,<br>``And also paper, pen and ink,<br>``And carry safe what I shall write<br>``To Padua, which you'll reach at night<br>``Before the duomo shuts; go in,<br>``And wait till Tenebr begin;<br>``Walk to the third confessional,<br>``Between the pillar and the wall,<br>``And kneeling whisper, _Whence comes peace?_<br>``Say it a second time, then cease;<br>``And if the voice inside returns,<br>``_From Christ and Freedom; what concerns<br>``The cause of Peace?_---for answer, slip<br>``My letter where you placed your lip;<br>``Then come back happy we have done<br>``Our mother service---I, the son,<br>``As you the daughter of our land!''</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Three mornings more, she took her stand<br>In the same place, with the same eyes:<br>I was no surer of sun-rise<br>That of her coming. We conferred<br>Of her own prospects, and I heard<br>She had a lover---stout and tall,<br>She said---then let her eyelids fall,<br>``He could do much''---as if some doubt<br>Entered her heart,---then, passing out,<br>``She could not speak for others, who<br>``Had other thoughts; herself she knew:''<br>And so she brought me drink and food.<br>After four days, the scouts pursued<br>Another path; at last arrived<br>The help my Paduan friends contrived<br>To furnish me: she brought the news.<br>For the first time I could not choose<br>But kiss her hand, and lay my own<br>Upon her head---``This faith was shown<br>``To Italy, our mother; she<br>``Uses my hand and blesses thee.''<br>She followed down to the sea-shore;<br>I left and never saw her more.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> How very long since I have thought<br>Concerning---much less wished for---aught<br>Beside the good of Italy,<br>For which I live and mean to die!<br>I never was in love; and since<br>Charles proved false, what shall now convince.<br>My inmost heart I have a friend?<br>However, if I pleased to spend<br>Real wishes on myself---say, three---<br>I know at least what one should be.<br>I would grasp Metternich until<br>I felt his red wet throat distil<br>In blood thro' these two hands. And next,<br>---Nor much for that am I perplexed---<br>Charles, perjured traitor, for his part,<br>Should die slow of a broken heart<br>Under his new employer. Last<br>---Ah, there, what should I wish? For fast<br>Do I grow old and out of strength.<br>If I resolved to seek at length<br>My father's house again, how scared<br>They all would look, and unprepared!<br>My brothers live in Austria's pay<br>---Disowned me long ago, men say;<br>And all my early mates who used<br>To praise me so---perhaps induced<br>More than one early step of mine---<br>Are turning wise: while some opine<br>``Freedom grows license,'' some suspect<br>``Haste breeds delay,'' and recollect<br>They always said, such premature<br>Beginnings never could endure!<br>So, with a sullen ``All's for best,''<br>The land seems settling to its rest.<br>I think then, I should wish to stand<br>This evening in that dear, lost land,<br>Over the sea the thousand miles,<br>And know if yet that woman smiles<br>With the calm smile; some little farm<br>She lives in there, no doubt: what harm<br>If I sat on the door-side bench,<br>And, while her spindle made a trench<br>Fantastically in the dust,<br>Inquired of all her fortunes---just<br>Her children's ages and their names,<br>And what may be the husband's aims<br>For each of them. I'd talk this out,<br>And sit there, for an hour about,<br>Then kiss her hand once more, and lay<br>Mine on her head, and go my way.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> So much for idle wishing---how<br>It steals the time! To business now.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Robert+Browning">Robert Browning</a><div class=q>
<img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share">
<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=506380" data-title="Italian In England, The de Robert Browning" data-description="That second time they hunted me
From hill to plain, from shore to sea,
And Austria, hounding far and wide
Her blood-hounds thro' the country-side,
Breathed hot and instant on my trace,---
I made six days a hiding-place
Of that dry green old aquedu..."></div>
</div>
</div>