Inferno, V, 121.
FAR from the sea-girt City that I love,
My wandering ways by care attended lie;
Cold is the azure of this foreign sky,
And strange these clustered stars that burn above.
Out from this loveless land would I remove
To seek thy spring Pierian, never-dry,
Thou thrice-crowned City! Hear my fainting cry.
Let not my passionate longing fruitless prove!
Would I once more might see the dome of gold