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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. 44