Poems By Arjava

THE desert strange ness drank the river dry

And left no meaning in its vacant bed

But boulders stranded—word-heaps such as I

Perforce- did utter, fumbling past the dead

And brittle husk of words for things alive.

You spoke of'' Thanks," but were not in my debt;

You said I " gave you. .. .," though 'tis I must strive

To burnish gems with which your gift is set.

I cannot count these gems ; appraise their worth :

Or knap the silken threads of gratitude

That link me to you though the width of earth

Were put between us. Soon as is unclewed

The ball of Time's untellable extent,

So soon should I forget the wealth you'd sent.