Poems By Arjava

FROM the dusky borderlands of sleep

I'd come, not empty handed,

But bearing strangely banded

Odorous blooms whose vague recesses keep

Echoes wheeling round—

The faint imprisoned sound

From soft-velvet-beating wings that sweep

In pale moth-flight across the glimmering deep.

Dream-fragrances and patternings of trance

Where the rich-jewelled pinions gravely dance

In that un hastening flight

Into the dim delight

Woven out of the gloom

Upon the starry loom

Of Night.