Poems By Arjava

THOUGH I must name the red rose and the star

And, penned behind their grating, view afar

Your living and befriending, I must hate

This cage of words to which there is no gate,—

The Silence-Wideness and the spoken bar.

O rutilant atlas and one dim word's mark ;

O regnant perfume in a blinding dark,

A wordless fragrance from the Immortal Rose

Whose incense ever from the finite goes

To fill the unfurled sails of sunset's bark.

Still shine, O symbol of unasked replies ;

Some Power has quickened in those endless skies

All the veiled Beauty to one aching star

Whose crystal shining cloudy words will mar :

The bourne less Beauty breeds no love that dies.