The Wet Litany

When the water’s countenance Blurrs ’twixt glance and second glance; When the tattered smokes forerun Ashen ’neath a silvered sun; When the curtain of the haze Shuts upon our helpless ways— Hear the Channel Fleet at sea; Libera nos domine!

When the engines’ bated pulse Scarcely thrills the nosing hulls; When the wash along the side Sounds, a sudden, magnified When the intolerable blast Marks each blindfold minute passed.

When the fog-buoy’s squattering flight Guides us through the haggard night; When the warning bugle blows; When the lettered doorways close; When our brittle townships press, Impotent, on emptiness.

When the unseen leadsmen lean Questioning a deep unseen; When their lessened count they tell To a bridge invisible; When the hid and perilous Cliffs return our cry to us.

When the treble thickness spread Swallows up our next-ahead; When her siren’s frightened whine Shows her sheering out of line; When, her passage undiscerned, We must turn where she has turned— Hear the Channel Fleet at sea; Libera nos Domine!