Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2243/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.