Author Rudyard Kipling The ships destroy us above And ensnare us beneath. We arise, we lie down, and we move In the belly of Death. The ships have a thousand eyes To mark where we come . . . But the mirth of a seaport dies When our blow gets home. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments