Complighted in one vibrant breath made cry,—
“Make thy love sure—to weave whose song we ply!”
—From black embankments, moveless soundings hailed,
So seven oceans answer from their dream.
And on, obliquely up bright carrier bars
New octaves trestle the twin monoliths
Beyond whose frosted capes the moon bequeaths
Two worlds of sleep (O arching strands of song!)—
Onward and up the crystal-flooded aisle
White tempest nets file upward, upward ring
With silver terraces the humming spars,
The loft of vision, palladium helm of stars.
Sheerly the eyes, like seagulls stung with rime—
Slit and propelled by glistening fins of light—
Pick biting way up towering looms that press
Sidelong with flight of blade on tendon blade
“Rime” is the ice that forms when cold water droplets come into contact with a cold surface. Crane, who always plays on the multiple meanings of words, probably also means to remind us of Coleridge’s  “Rime of the Ancient Mariner,”  much of which takes place in the icy waters near the South Pole. 
 Overall this image evokes eyes staring up at something so brilliant that it almost hurts to look at, as though the eyes were stung by cold. Compare the line  “Frosted eyes there were that lifted altars”  from Crane’s “At Melville’s Tomb.” 

Atlantis