Hurling seas of thunderous waters
Through the slowly strangling rift
Where the ice-floes ground and gritted in its bed.
Huge of limb and tusked like tree-trunks,
When the evening sun hung low
Slugged the mammoths down to gambol in its tide,
And 'twas there that, ringed and goaded
By the cave-men's spears and bows,
They fell in blinded agony and died.
So, for dim, uncounted aeons