From morn until eve they plunder and thieve—
The hungry, white wolves of the Sea!
With never a rest, they race to the west,
To the Orient’s rim do they run;
By the berg and the floe of the northland they go
And away to the isles of the sun.
They wail at the moon from the desolate dune
Till the air has grown dank with their breath;
They snarl at the stars from the treacherous bars
Of the coasts that are haunted by Death.