A sluggish little stream that loiters slow
Between gnarled tree-trunks and thick tangled grass
And giant reeds in a deep wet morass
For many a league, screened from the fiery glow
Of tropic sunlight; here and there a row
Of small red bitterns, sitting patiently,
Watch for the passing of their finny prey,
All silent as the water's voiceless flow;
Flash like live opals through the gloom a pair
Of bronze-winged doves; and in the inmost heart
Of this deep wilderness, alone, apart,
With mighty limbs outstretched, and half-shut eyes,
Lord of the pathless forest, dreaming lies
The deadly tiger in his darksome lair.