DARK RIVERS
There are dark rivers under tropic skiesOily, with scarce a ripple in the flood,Which stealthily creeps thro' the reeking mudBreeding strange fevers, eddying aboutA scaly back, or hideous mottled snout;—Or, when some war canoe the surface broke,Where dead white mists curl into rings of smoke.
Great stars, and wonderful between the boughs,Shine on the rivers; and huge creatures wade,With broad and glossy sides, as tho' they madeA rendezvous with Pleasure in the night.And, from the sword-grass, yellow eyes and brightAppear and disappear. An angry beastRoars from the jungle, greedy for his feast.The wart-hog grunts, and charges like a flame,Branding some fleshy flank with bloody aim.
Here flows a shallow creek from shallow hills,Black with stream tin and banked by ragged grass,Where ragged Chinamen, ore-seeking, pass,Some stray white goats tramp down on anxious hoofs.Here is a wooden church and iron roofs,A poppet-head in ruins, looking downOn this lean-pastured, worn-out mining town.
