Poems By Arjava

AS we spin towards the Bright,

Trundling to the hem of night,

Earth with bated hours hides

In dark more dreamless and more deep

Her winnowing air and crooning tides

And aeon-builded hills of sleep.

Out of darkness what shall come ?

Banished voices of the dumb—

Memories of forgotten splendour—

Sudden gleam of buried might

In the heart where Love the Lender

Mocks with Day the outward Night.