THE CAT= 



Peter; an Elegy 



In vain the kindly call, in vain 



The plate for which thou once wast fain, 



At morn, and noon, and daylight's wane, 



O King of mousers ! 

 No more I hear thee purr and purr, 

 As in the frolic days that were, 

 When thou didst rub thy velvet fur 



Against my trousers. 



How empty are the places where 

 Thou erst wert frankly debonair, 

 Nor dreamed a dream of feline care, 



A capering kitten. 

 The sunny haunts where, grown a cat, 

 You pondered this, considered that, 

 The cushioned chair, the rug, the mat, 



By firelight smitten. 



Although of few you stood in dread, 

 How well you knew a friendly tread, 

 And what upon your back and head 

 The stroking hand meant. 



119 



