Poems By Arjava

WILLOW and rowan and alder

at the mountain river side

whose rocks, below their wavering arch,

in gullies of gloom the mossy horsemen ride.

And outpost-isles loom balder

because no shadows hide

their boulders bleached by day's-breadth parch

amid the foams hot silver-chanting glide.

November pads her pillow

with thoughts no bough may keep

after the year's-end Lethe flood

dismemoried all the trees and gave them sleep :

' twixt rowan stems, and willow,

chill starbeams creep ;

through skulls of last year cones that stud

the alder-crest the clams of winter seep.

By yesterfreshet's leavings

the withy wands were dight

half-mast for Winter's overthrow,—

but yet those buglers golden on the height

entrap the sunlit weavings

of Spring with catkin-light

and set the quivering air aglow

with colour and bee-song by the honey bight.

The flower-fletched arrow

of the year's course came

into this autumn solitude

and fired the rowan's tinder with its aim.

Light's lovely glories narrow

and sweal in the crimson flame :

Time veered,—the lightless days renewed

graith for the lightward urge no bars can tame.