Poems By Arjava

THE Royal Fern with swaying plume,

The ravelled tumult of a brook,

Three dragonflies that dart and zoom,

And the red-loaden rowan's crook.

A dipping scud of yellowness

Bewrays a wagtail nestward flown :

At water brink two grey flies press

Gauzy wings to buff-grey stone.

Against the clearness of the sky

A buzzard looms in wheeling flight;

And water-mosses wavering lie

In the nether clearness flecked with white.

All changing, yet so ghostly still—

Could fragments one Quintessence frame ?

All vistas One Unvista'd fill ?

All spoken names one Silence name ?