Poems By Arjava

LET then the cone-shaped hood that shadows earth

And sometimes sweeps across the glittering moon

Be but the wrapping that is rent at birth—

My newborn eyes shall only see the noon.

Seek not the lower valleys and the wild

Foothills where fragrant pasture for the ewes

Is lush and tender : be the eagle's child

And the straight pathway to the sun peak choose,

Till Silence there be moulded to a Face

Marred with no time prints of mortality,

And the four winds be rhythms of pure space

That gale through wideness to Infinity.

Serene above the antlike crawl of days,

Height's eagle gains the rapture of the One ;

Feet on last outpost of dead sands and clays,

His living eyes hold commune with the sun.