To a Cat

Nelly, methinks, 'twixt thee and me
There is a kind of sympathy ;
And could we interchange our nature, —
If I were cat, thou human creature, —
I should, like thee, be no great mouser,
And thou, like me, no great composer ;
For, like thy plaintive mews, my muse
With villainous whine doth fate abuse,
Because it hath not made me sleek
As golden down on Cupid's cheek ;
And yet thou canst upon the rug lie,
Stretched out like snail, or curl'd up snugly,
As if thou wert not lean or ugly ;
And I, who in poetic flights
Sometimes complain of sleepless nights,
Regardless of the sun in heaven,
Am apt to doze till past eleven, —
The world would just the same go round
If I were hang'd and thou wert drown'd ;
There is one difference, 'tis true, —
Thou dost not know it, and I do.