Poems By Arjava

O YOUTH of youth, with Morning on thy lips

And eyes which have the quietude of Love,

Hovering ever, yet most when evening dips

All things in gold and the first stars gleam above,

Thine is the cleansing purity of fire,

The living thought of unconfined air ;

Thy heart a mirror's pool unblent with mire ;

And rhythms of earth have made thy body fair.

A myriad roses mingle into one

Pellucid drop, to live within its breath :

All lovely tones that back to silence run

And muster beauty in the wane of death

Converge within the cadence of thy speech,

Like moonbeam-ravelled waves upon the beach.