The Convergence Of The Twain


  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.


  Over the mirrors meant
  To glass the opulent
  The sea-worm crawls-grotesque, slimed, dumb, indifferent.


  Jewels in joy designed
  To ravish the sensuous mind
  Lie lightless, all their sparkles bleared and black and blind.


  Dim moon-eyed fishes near
  Gaze at the gilded gear
  And query: "What does this vaingloriousness down here?" . . .


  Well: while was fashioning
  This creature of cleaving wing,
  The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything


  Prepared a sinister mate
  For her - so gaily great -
  A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate.


  And as the smart ship grew
  In stature, grace, and hue,
  In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too.


  Alien 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,


  Till the Spinner of the Years
  Said "Now!" And each one hears,
  And consummation comes, and jars two hemispheres.

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Thomas Hardy

Thomas Hardy, was a Scottish Minister, Moderator of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland and Professor of Eccesiastical History at Edinburgh University. more…

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"The Convergence Of The Twain" STANDS4 LLC, 2020. Web. 26 Feb. 2020. <>.

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