The Earth Turns South/The Battle Line
THE BATTLE LINE
Like gray ghosts on a sea of grayThe great gray fleet at anchor rides,Proud conqueror of the nervous tides,Whose broken rollers slosh away,Defeated, from its sides.
There in the doubtful mists they wait,Tense for the vision they may seeOf grim and ghostly foes—when, free,They may at last unloose their greatRed voice of victory!