I + 

The corn has turned from grey to red, + 

Since first my spirit wandered forth + 

From the drear cities of the north, + 

And to Italia’s mountains fled. + 

And here I set my face towards home, + 

For all my pilgrimage is done, + 

Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun + 

Marshals the way to Holy Rome. + 

O Blessed Lady, who dost hold + 

Upon the seven hills thy reign! + 

O Mother without blot or stain, + 

Crowned with bright crowns of triple gold! + 

O Roma, Roma, at thy feet + 

I lay this barren gift of song! + 

For, ah! the way is steep and long + 

That leads unto thy sacred street. + 