She had a name among the children; But no one loved though someone owned Her, locked her out of doors at bedtime And had her kittens duly drowned. In Spring, nevertheless, this cat Ate blackbirds, thrushes, nightingales, And birds of bright voice and plume and flight, As well as scraps from neighbours' pails. I loathed and hated her for this; One speckle on a thrush's breast Was worth a million such; and yet She lived long, till God gave her rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ISLAND (SAINT HELENA, 1821) by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW POCAHONTAS by GEORGE POPE MORRIS TO A CHILD OF QUALITY, FIVE YEARS OLD. THE AUTHOR THAN FORTY by MATTHEW PRIOR VORTICIST POEM ON LOVE by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |