Fixed in the pole's impenetrable wall,
Dead to the warmer ocean's roving call!
Far from this liquid way that heaves and rolls,
This world-long switchback, bounded by the poles,
This path of pain, whose undulations cease
Only in that palæocrystic peace!
Nay, what is this? How steady! Here we are!
Field breezes mingle with the oil and tar,
And with a shudder I behold anear
The solid weed-hung timbers of the pier.