Tabby

Snug in the cushioned chair she curls,

A bundle of gold down and claws.

She's in the mood of restful girls;

Her blue glance fascinates and awes.

Motionless there she dreams a dream

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And softly breathes a secret name.

While worshipping the fire's gleam

She seems a sister of the flame.

When, frightened by her steady eyes,

I drive her from her resting-place,

She wears a look of baffled guile.

Her race is old and she is wise.

The thin warped sweetness of her face

Is like a lovely lady's smile.