Than never to have fought at all.’
The tricolor—a trampled rag 5
Lies, dirt and dust; the lines I track
By sentry boxes yellow-black,
Lead up to no Italian flag.
I see the Croat soldier stand
Upon the grass of your redoubts; 10
The eagle with his black wings flouts
The breadth and beauty of your land.
Yet not in vain, although in vain,