Jungle Floor

One moment past our bodies cast
No shadow on the plain;
Now clear and black they stride our track
And we run home again
In morning-hush, each rock and bush
Stands hard, and high, and raw:
Then give the Call: «Good rest to all
That keep the Jungle Law!»
The dew is dried that drenched our hide
Or washed about our way;
And where we drank, the puddled bank
Is crisping into clay
The traitor Dark gives up each mark
Of stretched or hooded claw:
Then hear the Call: «Good rest to all
That keep the Jungle Law!»