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Well: while was fashioning This creature of cleaving wing, The Immanent Will that stirs and urges everything Prepared a sinister mate For her--so gaily great-- A Shape of Ice, for the time far and dissociate. And as the smart ship grew In stature, grace, and hue, In shadowy silent distance grew the Iceberg too. Alien they seemed to be: No mortal eye could see The intimate welding of their later history, Or sign that they were bent By paths coincident On being anon twin halves of one august event, -Thomas Hardy (1840-1928), The Convergence of the Twain |