Poetry Archives

Italian people peaceful are,—
    Let it be to their credit.
They mostly fail to win a war,
   —Oh they themselves have said it.
“Allergic we to lethal guns
    And military might:
We love our homes and little ones,
           And loath to fight.”

But Teutons are a warrior race
    Who seek the sword to rattle;
And in the sun they claim a place,
    Even at price of battle.
The prestige of a uniform
    Is sacred in their sight;
They deem that they are soldiers born
           And might is right.

And so I love Italians though
    Their fighting powers are petty;
My heart with sympathy doth go
    To eaters of spaghetti.
And if the choice were left to me,
    I know beyond a doubt
A hundred times I’d rather be
           A Dago than a Kraut.