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Rudyard Kipling - How Fear Came
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The stream is shrunk—the pool is dry,
          And we be comrades, thou and I;
          With fevered jowl and dusty flank
          Each jostling each along the bank;
          And, by one drouthy fear made still,
          Forgoing thought of quest or kill.
          Now `neath his dam the fawn may see,
          The lean Pack-Wolf as cowed as he,
          And the tall buck, unflinching, note
          The fangs that tore his father`s throat.
          The pools are shrunk—the streams are dry,
          And we be playmates, thou and I,
          Till yonder cloud—Good Hunting!—Loose
          The rain that breaks our Water Truce.
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