THE CAT: 



Arsinoe's Cats 



Arsinoe the fair, the amber-tressed, 



Is mine no more; 

 Cold as the unsunned snows are is her breast, 



And closed her door. 

 No more her ivory feet and tresses braided 



Make glad mine eyes; 

 Snapt are my viol strings, my flowers are faded, 



My love-lamp dies. 



Yet, once, for dewy myrtle-buds and roses, 



All summer long, 

 We searched the twilight-haunted garden closes 



With jest and song. 

 Ay, all is over now, — my heart hath changed 



Its heaven for hell; 

 And that ill chance which all our love estranged 



In this wise fell : 



A little lion, small and dainty sweet, 



(For such there be!) 

 With sea-grey eyes and softly stepping feet, 



She prayed of me. 

 For this, through lands Egyptian far away, 



She bade me pass: 

 But, in an evil hour, I said her nay, 



And now, alas ! 

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