The Berg

I saw a ship of material build (Her standards set, her brave apparel on) Directed as by madness mere Against a solid iceberg steer,

Nor budge it, though the infactuate ship went down.

The impact made huge ice-cubes fall Sullen 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 or traceries fine,

Nor pendant drops in grot or mine Were jarred, when the stunned ship went down.

Nor sole the gulls in cloud that wheeled Circling one snow-flanked peak afar,

But nearer fowl the floes that skimmed And crystal beaches, felt no jar.

No thrill transmitted stirred the lock Of jack-straw neddle-ice at base;

Towers indermined by waves—the block Atilt impending— kept their place.

Seals, dozing sleek on sliddery ledges Slipt never, when by loftier edges Through the inertia ovrthrown,

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 ad go slow Sounding thy precipice below,

Nor stir the slimy slug that sprawls Along thy dead indifference of walls.