Poems By Arjava

'THE moon is a hollow gong. O let it beat

The indiscerptible union of day and morrow,

The chimes of midnight that from each other borrow—

Toll three, count six, and three not yet complete.

The moon is a hollow gong and it shall greet

Snake-charming of Breath from Dust and Joy from Sorrow :

Earth's wax shall yet the print of heaven borrow—

Once three, now six, and three for the future's mete.

The moon is a hollow gong that must complete

The swiftening rush from a day to a fairer morrow

That reaches Joy on stepping-stones of Sorrow—

Slow three, swift six, three more-unimaged-fleet.