The Earth Turns South/The Battle Line
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THE BATTLE LINE
Like gray ghosts on a sea of gray
The great gray fleet at anchor rides,
Proud conqueror of the nervous tides,
Whose broken rollers slosh away,
Defeated, from its sides.
The great gray fleet at anchor rides,
Proud conqueror of the nervous tides,
Whose broken rollers slosh away,
Defeated, from its sides.
There in the doubtful mists they wait,
Tense for the vision they may see
Of grim and ghostly foes—when, free,
They may at last unloose their great
Red voice of victory!
Tense for the vision they may see
Of grim and ghostly foes—when, free,
They may at last unloose their great
Red voice of victory!