Mid-ocean in War-time

The fragile splendour of the level sea,

The moon's serene and silver-veiled face,

Make of this vessel an enchanted place

Full of white mirth and golden sorcery.

Now, for a time, shall careless laughter be

Blended with song, to lend song sweeter grace,

And the old stars, in their unending race,

Shall heed and envy young humanity.

And yet to-night, a hundred leagues away,

These waters blush a strange and awful red.

Before the moon, a cloud obscenely grey

Rises from decks that crash with flying lead.

And these stars smile their immemorial way

On waves that shroud a thousand newly dead!