Littell's Living Age/Volume 173/Issue 2243/Naturæ Penetralia

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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.