ON THE ITALIAN FRONT
1916
"I will die cheering, if I needs must die;
So shall my last breath write upon my lips
Viva Italia! when my spirit slips
Down the great darkness from the mountain sky;
And those who shall behold me where I lie
Shall murmur,—'Look you! how his spirit dips
From glory into glory! the eclipse
Of death is vanquished! Lo, his victor-cry!'
"Live thou upon my lips, Italia mine,
The sacred death-cry of my frozen clay!
Let thy dear light from my dead body shine
And to the passer-by thy message say:
'Ecco! though heaven has made my skies divine,
My sons' love sanctilies my soil for aye!'"
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