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 menAnd the grass where Sambur feed;I threw a stone at a Kadapu treeThat 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 lawsMade by the whims of men.Would I were back with my furry cubsIn the dusk of a jungle den.