Nostalgia

To give this book a dedication

The desert sickened,

And lions roared, and dawns of tigers

Took hold of Kipling.

A dried-up well of dreadful longing

Was gaping, yawning.

They swayed and shivered, rubbing shoulders,

Sleek-skinned and tawny.

Since then continuing forever

Their sway in scansion,

They stroll in mist through dewy meadows

Dreamt up by Ganges.

Creeping at dawn in pits and hollows

Cold sunrays fumble.

Funereal, incense-laden dampness

Pervades the jungle.