American, looking wistfully about him:
And when the doves fly off—
Rather than meet Teutons,
In their compelling drive?
Woodcarver fiercely:
The doves will never leave;
St. Mark has willed it so.
’Tis they who must not leave;
If they leave Venice will fall.
’Tis for that I stay behind,
I and the little child,
To feed and sooth the doves.
And you—how come you here?
You must have been in the field—
Glancing up eagerly at the war correspondent:
Tell us—how fare our armies?
American solemnly and reluctantly:
Cadorna has retreated
Before the Teutonic drive.
They have unloosed the Piave;
The Germans cannot cross,
But the sacrifice was dear.
They have unloosed the Piave
To keep the Prussian back.
Cadorna has been routed;
Italians have retreated.
The Woodcarver stand there, looks at the war correspondent for a dazed moment, then jumps suddenly at him snarling into his very face:
Retreat—that is a lie!