Poems By Arjava

THROUGH a white-grey dawn the waves come rolling

Almost with no sound ;

Pale and phosphorescent gleam from streaks of foam

On a far-stretching waste of waters.

Like faltering steps of a young child,

Trickles and drifts of air are felt—

There is neither calm nor steady breeze,

While tentative light glimmers in vague skies :

The teeming star-blossoms dis petal one by one ;

Night is everywhere momently withering into day.