Far it was from the huts of men
And the grass where Sambur feed;
I threw a stone at a Kadapu tree
That bled as a man might bleed.
Scent of fur and colour of blood:—
And the long dead instincts rose,
I followed the lure of my season’s mate,—
And flew, bare-fanged, at my foes.
Pale days: and a league of laws