Poems By Arjava

THIN shallow soil upon a flank of down,

All rife with flint-stones, yields a niggard breast

To living crops. Upon the windy crest

Some wizened larch trees dot a Stone Age town :

Unfriendly ground with short sheep-nibbled grass

(O stabbing symbol of the Stone Age heart

That sours the time we live in); clouds but pass

And fling indifferent shadows and depart.

What dream distils in song from larks who thrill the sky. .

Past savagery o'erthrown.... new Love that will not die ?