Poems By Arjava

IF to spread these wings and sail

Were given to me,

Would this compass much avail ?

If sailorly

Flight steered due East or North or South

Or, deathward, West

Held grimly on, how quench this drouth

At the Wells of Rest

Which live beyond our mortal world

Changeless, not by moons impearled,

And know not intermittent sun,—

Or aught grave-ended, womb-begun,—

Or gaps of Foul for Fair to fill,

On twain-poised scales for ' Good ' and ' Ill'?

Athirst for Rest, one—wings unbound—

By viewless ways those waters found.