Damned dotage

A request, for those who have a penchant for poetry and generosity towards geriatrics. Somewhere in literary limbo there is a poem called "Ice". A somewhat Stevensonian rumination, the day-dream of a chair-bound drudge on a hot day, inspired by the calls of a man piloting a cart-load of ice through a busy street. I remember the drift of the poem (how appropriate for the lines about penguins on ice-floes) and one line ... "the carter cracks his sudden whip" (which, alas, rudely rouses the protagonist from his reverie). Another line floats on the edge of my memory like a half-recognised face in the shadows .. "Sleep drifting deep .. deep drifting sleep"

Is there any kind soul out there who can put a name to the poet and mayhap a link wherein I can find the poem? (Bartleby has failed me, and Falstaff's Minstrels don't seem to have a line search option.) There is little I can offer in return except the consciousness of compassion. Or perhaps an introduction to the delights of Tom Lehrer.

The poem came to mind because of a tap on the shoulder from 30in2005, a book meme that has effectively sabotaged my To-Do list as I (far too frequently) lean back in my chair (taking care not to tip over entirely, a hazard of these damn swivel chairs that do little for the gravitas of the gorment) and light up, dreaming awhile about bursting bookshelves and days sans deadlines. I shall deal with it anon ...

N.B. My apologies for the awful alliteration. Like Topsy, it 'just growed'.

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