(Corregidor, P. I. - 1924)

The Stygian dark is stabbed with swords 
Of silver flaming light. 
The grey guns couched, arise to speak, 
Shatt'ring the silent night. 
With blood red tongues of living flame 
They searched the rippling sea 
Where lifting, hissing, passed the ships - 
The ships we would not see. 
The servants of the great grey guns 
In sleepless patience wait 
Until the warders of the lights 
Align their beams full straight 
On grey ghosts coursing through the waves 
To force the seaward gate. 

         TenEyck Van Deusen