Classic Poem

I must hunt down the prize
Where my heart lists.
Must see the eagle's bulk, render'd in mists,
Hang of a treble size.

Must see the waters roll
Where the seas set
Towards wastes where round the ice-blocks tilt and fret
Not so far from the pole.

or

Must see the green seas roll
Where waters set
Towards those wastes where the ice-blocks tilt and fret,
Not so far from the pole.