Poems By Arjava

GREEN holm ; the rushy margin of a brook—

A brimming trance-forgetfulness of Time,

A burnished flow. Strewn petals of brooklime

Lay on the stream. A wandering zephyr shook

To dimples all that ecstasy of glass.

Communing with the sky. The meadow-sweet

Waved like a fragrant foam amid the grass

And vague dim whirr of wing or insect's feet.