^{translated from the Spanish by Muna Lee}

Poet, soldier, statesman, hero, he stands—
Great, like the countries whose freedom he won;
He whom no country can claim as her son,
Though as his daughters were born many lands.

His was the valor of who bears a sword;
His was the courtesy of who wears a flower:
Entering salons, he laid by the sword;
Plunging in battles, he tossed away the flower.

The peaks of the Andes to him seemed to be
But exclamation points after his stride:
Soldier-poet he was; poet-soldier was he!

Each land that he freed
Was a soldier’s poem and a poet’s deed:
And he was crucified.

Trees are the souls of men
Reaching skyward.
And while each soul
Draws nearer God
Its dark roots cleave
To earthly sod:
     Death, only death
     Brings triumph to the soul.
     The silent grave alone
     Can bare the goal.
     Then roots and all
     Must lie forgot—
     To rot.