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.


Middle-age


The sins of Youth are hardly sins,
So frank they are and free.
'T is but when Middle-age begins
We need morality.