Invitation to the Jungle

The Jungle gloom is dim and cool,And, even through the noonday heat,Among the reeds beside the poolThe silent air is freshly sweet.

Though desert winds, sand-laden, pass,And all the tree-tops bend and sigh,No breezes stir the flower-filled grassBeside the lake where we shall lie.

We shall not hear the Temple bells,The tom-tom's sad insistent beat,The far Bazaar, whose murmur swellsWith eager cries and restless feet.

We shall not know the myriad caresThat make the Home's soft tyranny,And all the Temple's lip-worn prayers,Its ordered gifts, will pass us by.

Those lip-worn prayers; whose sense is lostEffaced by long and tearful use,By thousands daily skywards tost,While still the God's reject,—refuse,—

Let others pay the reverence dueWith waving lights and sacred flowers.I pray no more except to you,My faith is in this love of ours.

And I shall twine the Kuskus grassTo shield the thing I hold so dear.What if the fierce-eyed Panthers pass?I know their ways and have no fear.

The jungle is my native landAnd love shall smooth its paths for you:Ah, could I make you understand,How well it is, this thing you do.

You leave the world, and passing byIts tarnished gold and futile strife,Gain freedom, love, the open sky,The flowers upon the Tree of Life!