How Fear Came

by Rudyard Kipling

　　 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.