706 RUDYARD KIPLING'S VERSE
"There is none like to me!" says the Cub in the pride of his
earliest kill; But the Jungle is large and the Cub he is small. Let him
think and be still.
Kaa's Hunting.
The stream is shrunk the pool is dry, And we be comrades, thou and I; With fevered jowl and dusty flank Each jostling each along the bank; And, by one drouthy fear made stil-1, Foregoing thought of quest or kill. Now 'neath his dam the fawn may see, The lean Pack-wolf as cowed as he, And the tall buck, unflinching, note The fangs that tore his father's throat. The pools are shrunk the streams are dry y And we be playmates, thou and I, Till yonder cloud Good Hunting! loose The rain that breaks our Water Truce.
How Fear Came.
What of the hunting, hunter bold?
Brother, the watch was long and cold. What of the quarry ye went to kill ?
Brother, he crops in the jungle still. Where is the power that made your pride?
Brother, it ebbs from my flank and side. Where is the haste that ye hurry by?
Brother, I go to my lair to die!
"Tiger-Tiger!"
Veil them, cover them, wall them round Blossom, and creeper, and weed
Let us forget the sight and the sound,
The smell and the touch of the breed!