Poems (Forrest)/Dark rivers
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.
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!