In a solitude of the sea
Deep from human vanity,
And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.
Steel chambers, late the pyres
Of her salamandrine fires,
Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.
IIIOver the mirrors meant
To glass the opulent
The sea-worm crawls — grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.
IVJewels in joy designed
To ravish the sensuous mind
Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.
VDim moon-eyed fishes near
Gaze at the gilded gear
And query: "What does this vaingloriousness down here?" ...
VIWell: while was fashioning
This creature of cleaving wing,
The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything
VIIPrepared a sinister mate
For her — so gaily great —
A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate.
VIIIAnd as the smart ship grew
In stature, grace, and hue,
In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.
IXAlien they seemed to be;
No mortal eye could see
The intimate welding of their later history,
Or sign that they were bent
By paths coincident
On being anon twin halves of one august event,
XITill the Spinner of the Years
Said "Now!" And each one hears,
And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.
The Convergence of the Twain
- Thomas Hardy