Greymalkin
Upon my bed a cat, with soft fur, gleaming eye,
Who rallies her handsome fat, and leaps down from on high.
O’ cat, from heaven fall’n, with piebald fur and soul,
Know you the mem’ry call’n, the image you make whole?
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Oh Greymalkin in flight, how without any thought,
You trace the prince of night, and iv’ry wing, swift blot.
On you this stain dresses, and parody close forms,
As upon your tresses, burn dark and tawny storms.
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As you turn in bright air, and tumble to the ground,
I wonder how you should fare, would some angel’s clarion sound.
There upon your sly face, his treason handsome sits,
Incongruous, your grace, with eyes like serpents’ slits.
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Is it guilt blot your soul, or merely earthly shame?
Did your fur turn charcoal, or was it formed the same?
And did Lucifer fall, with paws turned firmly down,
To meet hell, demons, all, with hooves cloven and brown?
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Or graceless tumbled from, the tall Empyrean gates?
Disgraced prince, to earth come, how impotent he hates!
Your conviction, virtue? That your feet descend sure,
Or is it a mark, too? Another way you err?
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What decency had he, to fall, broken, afraid!
And what obscenity, your confidence betrayed!
How certain in evil, to not but falter once,
And what sharp ray of hope, your arrogance swift blunts.
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And now the deviless, comes sleekly to my side,
And under no duress, by her will I abide.
For within her soft fur, though evil may exist,
One cannot but love her, when their hand is sweetly kissed.
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