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Song of the Submarine

From the Omaha Daily Bee, May 31, 1915.

I nose along with decks awash—
    All hid by flying spray;
And carefully I search the sea
    For ships on which to prey.
For none may know just when I come,
    And none know when I go;
As quick as breath, as sure as death,
    I send them all below.
Into her side my missile goes
    To wound her sore, and then
Like frightened sheep, into the deep,
    Drop cursing, praying men.

Sing ho! for ships I’ve met and sunk;
    Sing ho! my hearties, ho!
A great machine quick turned to junk,
    Gone to a grave below
Where silent things weave in and out
    And ragged sea weeds grow.

I nose along beneath the fog
    That curtains all the sea;
A slimy eel, all made of steel,
    A thing of mystery.
For none may see and none may hear,
    Nor learn my deadly hate
Until they know the crashing blow
    That shivers every plate.
As through her side my missile goes
    To wound her sore and deep,
And from her deck, a twisted wreck,
    Her white-faced seamen leap.

Sing ho! for ships I’ve yet to meet;
    Sing ho! my hearties, ho!
Pick and pride of some mighty fleet,
    Gone at a single blow,
Down where the slimy sea-snakes creep,
    Their evil eyes aglow.

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