Poems By Arjava

SWIFTLY the moment goes,

O, who can stay it ?

All that Love's debtor owes—

And but dreams to pay it.

Had I a sapphire pen

And page of argent,

What title known to men

Write on its margent ?

May speed out dare Love's wing

Or web of song entrap him ?

He recks no words we sing—

Silence, and truth, enlap him.