Atavism

Deep in the jungle vast and dim,

That knew not a white man's feet,

I smelt the odour of sun-warmed fur,

Musky, savage, and sweet.

Far it was from the huts of men

And the grass where Sambur feed;

I threw a stone at a Kadapu tree

That bled as a man might bleed.

Scent of fur and colour of blood:--

And the long dead instincts rose,

I followed the lure of my season's mate,--

And flew, bare-fanged, at my foes.

Pale days: and a league of laws

Made by the whims of men.

Would I were back with my furry cubs

In the dusk of a jungle den.