| |
| THROUGH long nursery nights he stood | |
| By my bed unwearying, | |
| Loomed gigantic, formless, queer, | |
| Purring in my haunted ear | |
| That same hideous nightmare thing, | 5 |
| Talking, as he lapped my blood, | |
| In a voice cruel and flat, | |
| Saying for ever, “Cat!… Cat!… Cat!…” | |
| |
| That one word was all he said, | |
| That one word through all my sleep, | 10 |
| In monotonous mock despair. | |
| Nonsense may be light as air, | |
| But there’s Nonsense that can keep | |
| Horror bristling round the head, | |
| When a voice cruel and flat | 15 |
| Says for ever, “Cat!… Cat!… Cat!…” | |
| |
| He had faded, he was gone | |
| Years ago with Nursery Land, | |
| When he leapt on me again | |
| From the clank of a night train, | 20 |
| Overpowered me foot and head, | |
| Lapped my blood, while on and on | |
| The old voice cruel and flat | |
| Says for ever, “Cat!… Cat!… Cat!…” | |
| |
| Morphia drowsed, again I lay | 25 |
| In a crater by High Wood: | |
| He was there with straddling legs, | |
| Staring eyes as big as eggs, | |
| Purring as he lapped my blood, | |
| His black bulk darkening the day, | 30 |
| With a voice cruel and flat, | |
| “Cat!… Cat!… Cat!… Cat!…” he said, “Cat!… Cat!…” | |
| |
| When I’m shot through heart and head, | |
| And there’s no choice but to die, | |
| The last word I’ll hear, no doubt, | 35 |
| Won’t be “Charge!” or “Bomb them out!” | |
| Nor the stretcher-bearer’s cry, | |
| “Let that body be, he’s dead!” | |
| But a voice cruel and flat | |
| Saying for ever, “Cat!… Cat!… Cat!” | 40 |
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