Naturæ Penetralia

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.