Poems By Arjava

UNDER the evening storm-lower

Far in the western sky

Gold are the wings of the eagle

Who bringeth Beauty nigh.

Heard we the sedges answer

The wind in a whispered cry—

Or a silk robe's fading rustle

And Her feet passing by ?

Framed in the day-dawn glimmer

Her fields of lotus lie,—

In the heart one worship-petal

Wins God-horizonry.