PROUD monster, swung in the bosom of the prouder deep,
I hear thy song, that hustles down the corridors of Time;
Is doom exultant in its strains—or is it peace?
Cast forth thy iron soul upon the seas—and break
This cruel Inquisition of To-day.
What wilt thou sing? What story wilt thou tell?
Where dwells thy fate—in Heaven or in Hell?
B.E.F., France, August 16, 1917.