V.

Singeth the poet of still nearer days When all the little lands fade one by one, Like wan stars melting 'neath Sardinia’s sun— While, for her crowning, 'mid the strangers’ praise, Hastes Italy unto the Capitol. Life of her sons laid down for her new life, Maidens their soldiers arming for the strife, Weeping the field where love and banner fall. Sings he of carbine and of bayonet That gleam and darken on Perugian hills, Of sorrow that a frightened city fills, And priestly robe with blood defenceless wet. White Roman robe earth’s shadow marketh dark— World-licensed target for the poets’ mark!