"Shallow-draught, coasting tank; goes anywhere she'll float for twenty tons of freight.

Captain Colden made them dig with their bayonets shallow graves for their dead, six in number.

The shallows murmur, the deeps are dumb.

By the slow streams the frogs all day and night Dream without thought of pain or heed of ill, Watching the long warm silent hours take flight, And ever with soft throats that pulse and thrill, From the pale-weeded shallows trill and trill, Tremulous sweet voices, flute-like, answering One to another glorying in the spring.