His spots are the joy of the Leopard: his horns are the Buffalo’s pride. <br />Be clean, for the strength of the hunter is known by the gloss of his hide. <br />If ye find that the bullock can toss you, or the heavy-browed Sambhur can gore; <br />Ye need not stop work to inform us: we knew it ten seasons before. <br />Oppress not the cubs of the stranger, but hail them as Sister and Brother, <br />For though they are little and fubsy, it may be the Bear is their mother. <br />‘There is none like to me !’ says the Cub in the pride of his earliest kill; <br />But the jungle is large and the Cub he is small. Let him think and be still.<br /><br />Rudyard Kipling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/kaa-s-hunting/
