THE ICE CART

Perched on my city office-stool,

I watched with envy, while a cool

And lucky carter handled ice...

And I was wandering in a trice,

Far from the grey and grimy heat

Of that intolerable street,

O'er sapphire berg and emerald floe,

Beneath the still, cold ruby glow

Of everlasting Polar night,

Bewildered by the queer half-light,

Until I stumbled, unawares,

Upon a creek where big white bears

Plunged headlong down with flourished heels,

And floundered after shining seals

Through shivering seas of blinding blue.

And as I watched them, ere I knew,

I'd stripped, and I was swimming, too,

Among the seal-pack, young and hale,

And thrusting on with threshing tail,

With twist and twirl and sudden leap

Through crackling ice and salty deep —

Diving and doubling with my kind,

Until, at last, we left behind

Those big, white, blundering bulks of death,

And lay, at length, with panting breath

Upon a far untravelled floe,

Beneath a gentle drift of snow —

Snow drifting gently, fine and white,

Out of the endless Polar night,

Falling and falling evermore

Upon that far untravelled shore,

Till I was buried fathoms deep

Beneath that cold white drifting sleep —

Sleep drifting deep,

Deep drifting sleep...

The carter cracked a sudden whip:

I clutched my stool with startled grip,

Awakening to the grimy heat

Of that intolerable street.