Poems By Arjava

I LAY upon a hill-slope in the sun

And barely had his dipping trend begun :

Surely the daytide hours were rife with room

Before Night's axe could hurl him to his doom ;

These May time clouds far-roaming would have played

Before the East up threatened with chill shade.

Time, like a drift of airborne foam,

Crept on slow wings above dusk's aerodrome,

The pilot moment loth to end his flight

With grossening sweep from airy leagues of light.

Beyond the blur where sky's blue brushed the downs

Din's motor-ways, and pylons, link the towns,

New griding sorrow slays the joyous hush

That broods upon these banks of wanton lush

Grass, gold of buttercup, white magic of may

Mile after winding mile of waterway,

Whose summit lies along these quiet hills,

Whose burnished peace only sky-silence fills.