Of drowned men and gallant, tall vessels laid low
While gulls wheeled about them like flurries of snow
And green combers romped at them smashing in thunder,
Gurgling and booming in caverns down under,
Sending their diamond-drops flying in showers.
"Oh," said the reefs, "what a business is ours!
Since saints in coracles paddled from Erin
(Fishing our waters for sinners and herrin')
And purple-sailed triremes of Hamilco came
To the Islands of Tin, we've played at the game.