Poems By Arjava

The Shadowy Lake

MY heart, come away to the waters of slumber

O'erbrimming their shadowy lake,

Where over the wavelets fly birds without number

(And hardly their wings are awake).

The air is entranced by the nenuphars blooming,

Is drowsily fragrant and still;

While through the grey shadows their whiteness is looming,

A targe for the Moon Archer's skill.

Voyage to Limbo

I leapt aboard the fleeing boat

To sail beyond the world—

Pan's deft fingers, a shrilling oat

Fooled not the sails unfurled.

The waves have lost the rhythm of time

And all the food is gone :

There come no seasons to this clime,

Nor set of sun nor dawn.

I doubt mine eyes will ever see

The sane and finite shore—

The hockey stick is in the tree,

And the bell is in the ore.