- The Italian soldier shook my hand
- Beside the guard-room table;
- The strong hand and the subtle hand
- Whose palms are only able
- To meet within the sound of guns,
- But oh! what peace I knew then
- In gazing on his battered face
- Purer than any woman’s!
- For the flyblown words that make me spew
- Still in his ears were holy,
- And he was born knowing what I had learned
- Out of books and slowly.
- The treacherous guns had told their tale
- And we both had bought it,
- But my gold brick was made of gold –
- Oh! who ever would have thought it?
- Good luck go with you, Italian soldier!
- But luck is not for the brave;
- What would the world give back to you?
- Always less than you gave.
- Between the shadow and the ghost,
- Between the white and the red,
- Between the bullet and the lie,
- Where would you hide your head?
- For where is Manuel Gonzalez,
- And where is Pedro Aguilar,
- And where is Ramon Fenellosa?
- The earthworms know where they are.
- Your name and your deeds were forgotten
- Before your bones were dry,
- And the lie that slew you is buried
- Under a deeper lie;
- But the thing that I saw in your face
- No power can disinherit:
- No bomb that ever burst
- Shatters the crystal spirit.
oct 17 2025 ∞
feb 19 2026 +