Poems By Arjava

CONSPIRE with Fate for mingling of our stars

To empty all thine horoscope of ill,

Reaspect every planet ray that mars,

Transmute the lead of lust to the gold of will.

Well of the millstone of revolving days

Shall crumb thy husks of sorrow down to naught ;

But if some unbleached bitter husk yet stays,

To my fore destined portion be it brought :

Though many days I eat such bitter bread,

It shall taste sweetly as the hours we spanned

In followed work or play—viewing instead

Of poison's Dark, loaves matching in hue thy hand.

Joy, keep his hazel hair from grizzling years,

For fend from happy eyes the seal of tears.