Poems By Arjava

THE air, that heaps no colour on the sun

But speeds the naked messengers of light

In that same hue with which they had begun

Their God-revealing travel to our sight,

Earns not a truer praise for modesty , ,

Than the cool poise and reticence of soul

Guarding your boyhood (as a sapling tree,

Though gruff gales bend, yet keeps its essence whole).

Now that you pause on the green watershed,

The winding dales of childhood at your back

And all tomorrows spread beneath your feet,

These eyes would probe the misty plains ahead,

These lips would pray, " Whatever foes you'll meet,

Your swift clean courage foil their dark attack."