George Hannibal Temple

An Iceberg

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From far Alaska's snow-bound shore,
Onward it moves like some dim phantom sweeping,
And silently the yeasty waves o'erleaping;
With glass the seaman scans it o'er.

Up looms the iceberg, gray and tall,
By Boreas driven from the far off distance,
O'er Aegean blue, despising all resistance,
'Tis close at hand -- the floating wall!

The rising moonbeams dart the skies,
High-reaching up to heaven's dome collecting;
The huge ice prism the glittering hues reflecting --
Lo, 'tis a rainbow's tints it vies!

The mariners, what this might be,
Stood still as though 'twere Gorgon's head uplifted,
Instead of some stray iceberg that had drifted
Far out into the open sea.

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