Poems By Arjava

THE' grille of the terrace was golden

And palings of gold were there ;

He moved—by these eyes beholden—

The fairest among the fair.

His speech held the music of laughter,

His eyes were the stars of eve,

Dread less of dark hereafter

Or of aught the dead hours bequeath.

In a dazzle of ivory brightness

Shoulder and arm lay bare :

O how to his dream-beck whiteness

One waking hue compare ?

How touch, with his lithe enjoying

Of the ripples of sun and breeze,

Grave-dust and earthen cloying

And the wry wine's bitter lees ?