The Story Archive

The Convergence of the Twain

Thomas Hardy · 1912 CE · Poem · English · Victorian

Deep from human vanity the liner lies in the solitude of the sea, the mirrors meant to glass the opulent crawled over now by grotesque and slimed dumb indifferent worms. While it was being shaped in the yards, a shape of ice was growing far away for it, the two dissociate and no mortal eye seeing the intimate welding of their later history. Hardy wrote it for a Covent Garden benefit five weeks after the sinking.

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