Morning Song in the Jungle

By Rudyard Kipling

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!"

Now horn and pelt our peoples melt

In covert to abide;

Now, crouched and still, to cave and hill

Our Jungle Barons glide.

Now, stark and plain, Man's oxen strain,

That draw the new-yoked plough;

Now, stripped and dread, the dawn is red

Above the lit talao.

Ho! Get to lair! The sun's aflare

Behind the breathing grass:

And creaking through the young bamboo

The warning whispers pass.

By day made strange, the woods we range

With blinking eyes we scan;

While down the skies the wild duck cries:

"The Day--the Day to Man!"

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!"