AS I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while the music is playing,
To my mind, (whence it comes I know not,) spectral, in mist, of a wreck at sea;
Of certain shipshow they sail from port with flying streamers, and wafted
that is the last of them!
Of the solemn and murky mystery about the fate of the President;
Of the flower of the marine science of fifty generations, founderd off the Northeast
coast, and going downOf the steamship Arctic going down,
Of the veild tableauWomen gatherd together on deck, pale, heroic,
moment that draws so closeO the moment!
A huge sobA few bubblesthe white foam spirting upAnd then the women
Sinking there, while the passionless wet flows onAnd I now pondering, Are those
Are Souls drownd and destroyd so?
Is only matter triumphant?