SKY SIGNS.
WHEN all the guns are sponged and cleaned, and fuzes go to store,
When all the wireless stations cry—"Come home, you ships of war"—
"Come home again and leave patrol, no matter where you be."
We'll see the lights of England shine,
Flashing again on the steaming line,
As out of the dark the long grey hulls come rolling in from sea.
The long-forgotten lights will shine and gild the clouds ahead,
Over the dark horizon-line, across the dreaming dead
That went to sea with the dark behind and the spin of a coin before.