AN iceberg drifting in the polar seas 

  Braces its cold and bold and glistening front 

Against the sharpness of the Arctic blasts; 

But when it idly floats by southern shores, 

Where milder sunshine wakes the praise of spring, 

Warm airs embrace the rugged stranger round, 

And melt away its angles with their breath: 

The tepid waves caress it, and the light 

Nestles among its many crevices, 

Till it relents, and in a vail of mist 

Withdrawing, sinks, and weeps itself away 

Upon the bosom of the summer sea. 

And so, when argument, reproach, and force 

Are spent in vain, the hard heart yields to love.