The buoys that marked the channel rocked,
The mortar-guns slept on their knees,
In readiness to leap when called;
The coast-patrol saw boding sign;
Men climbed the cliffs to scan the deep,
And spliced an extra breeches-line.
And then the weather settled down,
The green of every wave took flight,
And one great hollow voice made moan,
And rumbled, rumbled day and night,