Poems By Arjava

HOW strange that in a mirror's confined space

The strength and freshness pf the morning nears

Those times when, as you lean to view your face,

Brown eye and brown eye each on its fellow peers.

Hold, mirror, guard that comeliness of him :

The delicate mould of lip,—the steady eye,—

A crest of smooth brown hair,—and fairness trim

Shading to tan where deeper freckles dye.

And all this Brightness but shadow of a soul

Enshrined in hues no lips of earth could name.

What mirror then could hold the high repose

Of framing that sweet poise, that sure control ?

Be cleansed, O heart, from dross, to build him those

Hues of himself in hushed, love-splendoured flame.