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59
THE SUBMARINE
I
She slideth through the green sea-night,Certain and cruel without light;
In ocean glooms her deaths are done,
She craves no comfort of the Sun.
II
She striketh low, she striketh sure,No armour shall her thrust endure;
The Iron-clad quails through every tower,
Subsiding in elaborate power.
III
No mailéd fortress then shall saveThat metal mountain of the wave,
No mounded castle of the deck,
No yawning guns that yearn to speak.
60
IV
Once in the clear and cruder daysA man might see the lunge that slays;
The point the strove to baffle well,
Missed, but not all in blindness fell.
V
But no man knoweth where She steals,If far away or at our keels;
Sudden She strikes without a sound,
And leaves a mute but mortal wound.
VI
What clamour of old ocean-war,What thunder belched at Trafalgar,
Matches in terror the unseen
Stab of the silent Submarine?
VII
So, late in time has come to beThis man-built menace of the sea;
God gave no monster to the main
To make the works of man so vain.
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