University of Virginia Library

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 the flower of the marine science of fifty genera-
     tions, foundered off the Northeast coast, and
     going down—Of the steamship Arctic going
     down,
Of the veiled tableau—Women gathered together
     on deck, pale, heroic, waiting the moment that
     draws so close—O the moment!
O the huge sob—A few bubbles—the white foam
     spirting up—And then the women gone,
Sinking there, while the passionless wet flows on—
     And I now pondering, Are those women indeed
     gone?
Are Souls drowned and destroyed so?
Is only matter triumphant?