The Convergence Of The Twain

                                     I

                         In a solitude of the sea
                          Deep from human vanity,
        And the Pride of Life that planned her, stilly couches she.

                                     II

                      Steel chambers, late the pyres
                        Of her salamandrine fires,
          Cold currents thrid, and turn to rhythmic tidal lyres.

                                     III

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

                                     IV

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

                                      V

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

                                     VI

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

                                    VII

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

                                   VIII

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

                                    IX

                         Alien they seemed to be:
                          No mortal eye could see
               The intimate welding of their later history,

                                    X

                        Or sign that they were bent
                            by paths coincident
              On being anon twin halves of one august event,

                                    XI

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