They whitened Ocean⁠—going down by the head, Green water seeping through the battened ports, Spreading along the scrubbed and famous decks, Going down⁠—going down⁠—going down⁠—to mermaid-pools, To Fiddler’s Green⁠—to the dim barnacle-thrones, Where Davy Jones drinks everlasting rum With the sea-horses of his sunken dreams.