Hearts that hate as hot as they....
Hark to my blooded sea-dogs sing:
(For fallen lord small care have they)
“The King is dead: Long live the King!”
Beneath his keel the waves were red
From tropic tide to Baltic bay;
Voices of vengeance on his head
In dying gasp from lips of grey
Livened the languor of his way;
If those dead souls do know this thing,