I saw a ship of martial build(Her standards set, her brave apparel on)Directed as by madness mereAgainst a stolid iceberg steer,Nor budge it, though the infatuate ship went down.The impact made huge ice-cubes fallSullen, in tons that crashed the deck;But that one avalanche was all --No other movement save the foundering wreck.
Along the spurs of ridges pale,Not any slenderest shaft and frail,A prism over glass-green gorges lone,Toppled; or lace of traceries fine,Nor pendant drops in grot or mineWere jarred, when the stunned ship went down.Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeledCircling one snow-flanked peak afar,But nearer fowl the floes that skimmedAnd crystal beaches, felt no jar.No thrill transmitted stirred the lockOf jack-straw needle-ice at base;Towers undermined by waves -- the blockAtilt impending -- kept their place.Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledgesSlipt never, when by loftier edgesThrough very inertia overthrown,The impetuous ship in bafflement went down.
Hard Berg (methought), so cold, so vast,With mortal damps self-overcast;Exhaling still thy dankish breath --Adrift dissolving, bound for death;Though lumpish thou, a lumbering one --A lumbering lubbard loitering slow,Impingers rue thee and go down,Sounding thy precipice below,Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawlsAlong thy dead indifference of walls.
