'Neath that flame-darting ball--and waters drained
Down to their mud, crawls croaking forth, to cower
Under the black-snake's coils, where there is gained
A little shade; and, strained
To patience by such heat, scorching the jewel
Gleaming so cruel on his venomous head,
That worm, whose tongue, as the blast burns along,
Licks it for coolness--all discomfited--
Strikes not his strange friend dead!
The pool, with tender-growing cups of lotus