Poems By Arjava

PRECARIOUS boat that brought me to this strand

Shall feed flame-pinnacles from stem to stern,

Till not one rib my backward glance can find—

Down to the very keelson they shall burn.

Now to the unreal sea-line I would no more yearn ;

Fain to touch with feet an unimaginable land. . ..

The gates of false glamour have closed behind ;

There is no return.