Poems By Arjava

WHEN the grey dusk has laid upon our eyes

Not so much weight as lingers in swan's-down

That drifts before the faintest whim of air,

And the flittering bat- on a noiseless errand plies,

And in the grass the glow-worm lights a Lilliput town,

O with what pale white gesture her left hand smooths her hair.

But half the stars have gained their wonted place

In the high windless vaulture of the sky,

Nor hath the night bedewed the crimson rose,

Heavy with passionate odour, fain of her face

That leans in the dim and the dark hour over the hue less cry

Of that fountain-song of redness, half hidden in repose.