by Thomas Hardy

    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 fat and dissociate.