On the Italian Front, MCMXVI

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 sanctifies my soil for aye!'" George Edward Woodberry