Bolivar

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.