Poems (Forrest)/Dark rivers
DARK RIVERS
There are dark rivers under tropic skies
Oily, with scarce a ripple in the flood,
Which stealthily creeps thro' the reeking mud
Breeding strange fevers, eddying about
A scaly back, or hideous mottled snout;—
Or, when some war canoe the surface broke,
Where dead white mists curl into rings of smoke.
Oily, with scarce a ripple in the flood,
Which stealthily creeps thro' the reeking mud
Breeding strange fevers, eddying about
A 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 made
A rendezvous with Pleasure in the night.
And, from the sword-grass, yellow eyes and bright
Appear and disappear. An angry beast
Roars from the jungle, greedy for his feast.
The wart-hog grunts, and charges like a flame,
Branding some fleshy flank with bloody aim.
Shine on the rivers; and huge creatures wade,
With broad and glossy sides, as tho' they made
A rendezvous with Pleasure in the night.
And, from the sword-grass, yellow eyes and bright
Appear and disappear. An angry beast
Roars 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 down
On this lean-pastured, worn-out mining town.
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 down
On this lean-pastured, worn-out mining town.
And beyond this are many empty plains,
And farther still, the railway and the scrolls
Of the straight unwound lines, the naked poles
Of telegraph, the coach road rutted deep
From the wet passing of a mob of sheep.
Hard by the rotting timbers of a bridge
A sapless plant of bracken tries to grow;
A harmless lizard scuttles to and fro
A frugal meal of feeble flies to make.
There's nothing here as subtle as a snake!
And farther still, the railway and the scrolls
Of the straight unwound lines, the naked poles
Of telegraph, the coach road rutted deep
From the wet passing of a mob of sheep.
Hard by the rotting timbers of a bridge
A sapless plant of bracken tries to grow;
A harmless lizard scuttles to and fro
A 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 kills
The shuddering doe; and in the light and shade
Of forest paths, such games of death are played
That life soars, glowing on exultant wing—
Man having learned the value of a thing
For which he wrestles daily! Surely love
Must be worth having where such hazards move!
Dun-coloured flats and fire-blackened hills,
But over there, the python hangs and kills
The shuddering doe; and in the light and shade
Of forest paths, such games of death are played
That life soars, glowing on exultant wing—
Man having learned the value of a thing
For which he wrestles daily! Surely love
Must 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 think
I know the way a lion comes to drink!
A toneless twilight on the township lies.
There are dark rivers under tropic skies.
And tho' I have not seen it, yet I think
I know the way a lion comes to drink!