We have fed our sea for a thousand years
And she calls us, still unfed,
Trough there's never a wave of all her waves
But marks our English dead:
We have strewn our best to the weed's unrest,
To the shark and the sheering gull.
If blood be the price of admiralty,
Lord God, we ha' paid in full!
The Song of the Dead
The poem was about the British Navy's rule of the seas.