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 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.