Poems
THEME/S
Weary, for the world brings nothing new,
I waited for the New Year's light on the dew.
The twelve strokes came to beat me down
With the tiring sense that only the old
Will deck itself with the glittering crown
Of a new name and fool into hope
Of a godlike halo the minds that grope....
But something stirred in my heart as I stood,
And the pulse-throbs twinkled with magic blood,
For I looked above at the measureless dome
And knew the crown of the year that had come
Was old but ah so quenchlessly old—
The infinity-haunted starry gold.
Bombay, 1.1.44
Page 538
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