THE GINGER CAT
’Tis the old wife at Rickling, sheHas lost her ginger cat, ’twas heWho used to share the Master’s teaBeside the settle,Or on his corduroy-clad kneeOut-purr the kettle;Who followed when she pinned a-rowHer flapping gowns of indigoAnd watched the apple-petals blow,With stealthy raptureRehearsing in a mimic showSome mouse’s capture.At dew-fall, with uncovered head,What tidings have the old wife ledHither where oak and hazel shedTheir shadow deeper?—They say the ginger cat is dead,Shot by the Keeper.Through coverts dim her searches lie(Howe’er so hardly sorrows tryThe burden of uncertaintyTo bear were harder)To where things dangle when they die—The Keeper’s larder.A bough the larder hangs upon—Rats, and decaying hedge-hogs grownShapeless, and owls their features gone,—A grisly freight,And many a weasel skeletonWith hairless pate,And trophy of cats’ tails arrayed,Tabby and white and black displayed,The adornment of the still green glade—More gay for thatOf him who in the morning strayed,The ginger cat.She knows it, and she cuts it down;Then warm beneath her folded gownBestows the severed brush’s brownAnd orange bands—So soft of fur, the tears fall downUpon her hands.The copse-wood parts, ’tis she who goes,Whom shades obscure and star-light shows,Treading between the hazel rowsThe fallen sticks,Home, where the careless fire-light glowsAlong the bricks.
’Tis the old wife at Rickling, sheHas lost her ginger cat, ’twas heWho used to share the Master’s teaBeside the settle,Or on his corduroy-clad kneeOut-purr the kettle;Who followed when she pinned a-rowHer flapping gowns of indigoAnd watched the apple-petals blow,With stealthy raptureRehearsing in a mimic showSome mouse’s capture.At dew-fall, with uncovered head,What tidings have the old wife ledHither where oak and hazel shedTheir shadow deeper?—They say the ginger cat is dead,Shot by the Keeper.Through coverts dim her searches lie(Howe’er so hardly sorrows tryThe burden of uncertaintyTo bear were harder)To where things dangle when they die—The Keeper’s larder.A bough the larder hangs upon—Rats, and decaying hedge-hogs grownShapeless, and owls their features gone,—A grisly freight,And many a weasel skeletonWith hairless pate,And trophy of cats’ tails arrayed,Tabby and white and black displayed,The adornment of the still green glade—More gay for thatOf him who in the morning strayed,The ginger cat.She knows it, and she cuts it down;Then warm beneath her folded gownBestows the severed brush’s brownAnd orange bands—So soft of fur, the tears fall downUpon her hands.The copse-wood parts, ’tis she who goes,Whom shades obscure and star-light shows,Treading between the hazel rowsThe fallen sticks,Home, where the careless fire-light glowsAlong the bricks.
’Tis the old wife at Rickling, sheHas lost her ginger cat, ’twas heWho used to share the Master’s teaBeside the settle,Or on his corduroy-clad kneeOut-purr the kettle;
Who followed when she pinned a-rowHer flapping gowns of indigoAnd watched the apple-petals blow,With stealthy raptureRehearsing in a mimic showSome mouse’s capture.
At dew-fall, with uncovered head,What tidings have the old wife ledHither where oak and hazel shedTheir shadow deeper?—They say the ginger cat is dead,Shot by the Keeper.
Through coverts dim her searches lie(Howe’er so hardly sorrows tryThe burden of uncertaintyTo bear were harder)To where things dangle when they die—The Keeper’s larder.
A bough the larder hangs upon—Rats, and decaying hedge-hogs grownShapeless, and owls their features gone,—A grisly freight,And many a weasel skeletonWith hairless pate,
And trophy of cats’ tails arrayed,Tabby and white and black displayed,The adornment of the still green glade—More gay for thatOf him who in the morning strayed,The ginger cat.
She knows it, and she cuts it down;Then warm beneath her folded gownBestows the severed brush’s brownAnd orange bands—So soft of fur, the tears fall downUpon her hands.
The copse-wood parts, ’tis she who goes,Whom shades obscure and star-light shows,Treading between the hazel rowsThe fallen sticks,Home, where the careless fire-light glowsAlong the bricks.