Poems By Arjava

WHEN the long tresses of the dusk will drop

And sinuously sweep through languid air,

A lone star lingers by the cedar-top—

The-one gem throbbing in your glamorous hair.

An outstretched hand is filled with darkening space ;

It finds no warm and myrtle-twined hair

That shades the lilied round ure of your face

And binds Arabian odours on the air.

" Bequeath in dream the pallor of her face

And that rich darkness,—redolent of myrrh,—

Which is for one proud jewel a trysting-place :

O Potnia Nux, a dole of dream confer.

One boon conferred, I will forego each flame

Of all thy stars, to wait in moonless air....

Seal thou my ears with rapture of that name,

Shadow my eyes with that dim odorous hair."