The Wolves of the Sea

FROM dusk until dawn they are hurrying on,

Unfetterd and fearless they flee;

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.

They grapple and bite in a keen, mad delight

As they feed on the bosom of Grief;

And one steals away to a cave with his prey,

And one to the rocks of the reef.

With the froth on their lips they follow the ships,

Each striving to lead in the chase;

Since loosed by the hand of the King of their band

They have known but the rush of the race.

They are shaggy and old, yet as mighty and bold

As when God’s freshest gale set them free;

Not a sail is unfurled in a port of the world

But is prey for the wolves of the Sea!