Poems By Arjava

THE sky of night is but the ebon door,

star-golden with nails of fire :

beyond, the unimaginable floor

is flecked with glory from the kindled pyre

of gift immortal in the mortal giving

and firth serene 'cross war,

wing worthiness and alchemy of living,-—

flooding with trust our gloom-sad corridor.

The phoenix egg of quintessential light

Death in the desert place

vainly encompasses : beyond their night

loves the archetypal Form of lovers' race

in Whom the shadow-barriers have vanished

and prison walls of name

come not between (for blended incense banished

their wraith in ashes winnowed by the flame).

A wan and worn earth sleeps in warless grave ;

Arabian phoenixland

fossils un habited shell—so save

toil of aspiring will to understand !

Other the thy my wakefulness that beckoned

Phaedrus on wing ward way—

child of the Sun whose wakening memories reckoned

the wing-bright peace of Solar Yesterday.

Vivid as almandine, world-hallowing feet

flame from the sunrise lair.

Uprush of wings matching the paths they beat

of crystalline blue diamond thoroughfare.

Tranquil the phoenix-poise of golden crested,

fleece-white and sorrow less

head of the undefeated vision who had nested

where on Time's moments looms the Everliving ness.