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_




AUSTRALIA TO ENGLAND


By all the deeds to Thy dear glory done,
By all the life blood, spilt to serve Thy need,
By all the fettered lives Thy touch hath freed,