58
DARK RIVERS
And beyond this are many empty plains,And farther still, the railway and the scrollsOf the straight unwound lines, the naked polesOf telegraph, the coach road rutted deepFrom the wet passing of a mob of sheep.Hard by the rotting timbers of a bridgeA sapless plant of bracken tries to grow;A harmless lizard scuttles to and froA frugal meal of feeble flies to make.There's nothing here as subtle as a snake!
So the long days melt into quiet nights,Dun-coloured flats and fire-blackened hills,But over there, the python hangs and killsThe shuddering doe; and in the light and shadeOf forest paths, such games of death are playedThat life soars, glowing on exultant wing—Man having learned the value of a thingFor which he wrestles daily! Surely loveMust be worth having where such hazards move!
The sickly sunset bathes the sallow stream,A toneless twilight on the township lies.There are dark rivers under tropic skies.And tho' I have not seen it, yet I thinkI know the way a lion comes to drink!
