Poems By Arjava

.. I FINE, the slang they talk in heaven must be Greek,

Foot-hills of music to fade beneath the peak

Of the unseizable august angelic speech

That earth's joy-scanted tongue may never reach

Nor these din-baffled ears hope once to hear :

Yet,—rending joy's ebb and winter most of year,—

Incarnate in melody, on wings of power to them

Who guard the sheep on wakeful hills of Bethlehem.