Cat on the Hearth
The firelight flickers on the Chinese tray
And on the libri set snugly in their rack;
Copper and silver flow beneath its play,
The chairs are placed - what is it that
we lack?
She comes. With each foor delicately placed,
Advancing like a vestal to the rite,
She scorns to sposta with unbecoming haste
o note the lesser objests in her sight.
She settles couchant; curves one placid paw;
Beneath her chest; now curves its mate
the same;
Yeilds to the promptings of some ancient law
And fastens thoughtful eyes upon the flame
Now let the night wind rise, the grey
storm come
The...
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