The Town Cat

The melancholy days are come,
The saddest of the year;
Of houses closed and doorbells dumb
And windows dark and drear.

Now Dives to his country seat
Has hied himself away,
And Tabby turned into the street
Must shift as best she may.

No more the cushion soft as silk,
The catnip ball no more;
No more the saucer full of milk
Behind the pantry door.

Nor shall she in the temple prey
Upon the lean church mouse;
The good Lord, too, has gone away
And closed his city house.

When Dives hies him back once more
To his town house, oh, shame!
Tabby will greet him at the door,
But not—no, not the same.