Hyacinth dreams in the arbour ...
Just a crumpled mass of gray ...
Soft ashen hair and colourless skin,
Small, delicate hands blue-veined and thin ...
Hyacinth dreams in the arbour
And who shall say
What Hyacinth dreams to-day?
Hyacinth dreams in the arbour
And the stealthy pussy-cat creeps
To her silken lap in the soft green gloom.
Room for the pussy-cat, Hyacinth ... room!
Hyacinth dreams, in the arbour,
Of Life ... that steals and leaps
Like a panther out of the shadows ...
Hyacinth sleeps.
Hyacinth! Hyacinth! Open your eyes!
The baby in the looking-glass
Is smiling through at me;
She has her teaspoon in her hand,
Her feeder on for tea.
And if I look behind her I
Can see the table spread;
I wonder if she has to eat
The nasty crusts of bread.
Her doll, like mine, is sitting close
Beside her special chair,
She has a pussy on her lap;
It must be my cup there.
Her picture-book is on the floor,
The cover’s just the same;
And tidily upon the shelf
I see my Ninepin game.
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
A cat in distress,
Nothing more, nor less;
Good folks, I must faithfully tell ye,
As I am a sinner,
It waits for some dinner
To stuff out its own little belly.
You would not easily guess
All the modes of distress
Which torture the tenants of earth;
And the various evils,
Which like so many devils,
Attend the poor souls from their birth.
Some a living require,
And others desire
An old fellow out of the way;
And which is the best