Poems By Arjava

'THERE is no need of painted books

Or coloured, tales of fairy lore ;

What stars are shut in your bright looks,

What magic walks upon the floor

When your fair feet have passed the door

Are you a sun-god in his prime

To lure the Spring across the sky ?

—How can this be the wonted clime

Of heartless earth's inconstancy ?

There is a vow upon my lips

Not to forget you or to change

The passionate liking that so grips

My heart or by mis thought derange

The not-by-earth-attuned lute

Of our companionship. We pass

Minutes the high gods shall transmute

To gold in my remembering glass

Of heart and mind. And whither now

Has vanished all that bitter world

That never shows a candid brow

Or flags of soul in eye unfurled ?

There is an atmosphere of trust,

A way of peace where travellers meet:

Until there guided by your feet

I deemed that all of life was dust,

I had not known it was so sweet.