Poems By Arjava

RICHLY laden waggons go

Over a starlit plain.

Between dry banks no waters flow ;

They will not flow again.

Wax-white bones of camel and horse

Forespeak the journey's end ;

No dew relents the watercourse,

No cloud that lightnings rend.

The waggons touch the rot of Time,

The verdigris of Space ;

There are no mountains more to climb.

No steep descents to face.

And all the load has end in dust,

And every axle bends ;

The horses' hooves are shod with rust :

And even chaos ends.