Death of Cats

Here are the two poems we compared in class.

Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat,

Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes

                                          'Twas on a lofty vase's side,

Where China's gayest art had dyed

The azure flower~ that blow;

Demurest of the tabby kind,

The pensive Selima reclined,

Gazed on the lake below.

 

Her conscious tail her joy declared;

The fair round face, the snowy beard,

The velvet of her paws,

Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,

Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,

She saw; and purred applause.

 

Still had she gazed; but 'midst the tide

Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The genii of the stream:

Their sealy armour's Tyrian hue

Through richest purple to the view

Betrayed a golden gleam.

The hapless nymph with wonder saw:

A whisker first and then a claw,

With many an ardent wish,

She stretched in vain to reach the prize.

What female heart can gold despise ?

What cat's averse to fish?

 

Presumptuous maid! with looks intent

Again she stretched, again she bent,

Nor knew the gulf between.

Malignant Fate sat by and smiled

The slippery verge her feet beguiled,

She tumbled headlong in.

 

Eight times emerging from the flood

She mewed to every watery god,

Some speedy aid to send.

No dolphin came, no Nereid stirred;

Nor cruel Tom nor Susan heard.

A favourite has no friend!

 

From hence, ye beauties, undeceived,

Know, one false step is ne'er retrieved,

And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wandering eyes

And heedless hearts is lawful prize.

Nor all that glisters, gold

Death of a Cat

Always fastidious, it removed its dying 

From us, and lay down by it in the
dark 

As if death were a mouse, and a cat's role 

To deal with it, and not involve the house;

Chose a remote spot that, when I bent to help,

Shocked because it existed -I had thought 

The mind a complete map of home; left dust 

On my fingers when I had settled it

In front of the fire on an old blanket;

Insisted to the last on standing

And walking with frail dignity to its water

In its usual place in the kitchen, disdaining 

The saucer we had thoughtfully set near it.

 

And death was a wind that tested regularly

The strength the cat had left, and in its
walk 

Puffed on its flank and made it totter

Then courteously desisted. Death can
wait. 

Powerless, with crude tears, we watched the
cat 

Totter and reassert itself again and again

Its life the fuel for its will to live

Until the bones appeared, blood dried in
veins, 

The pelt was ragbag remnants, the eyes gone
out 

And the wind's task was easy and the cat
fell.