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...ODE INSCRIBED TO W.H. CHANNING by RALPH WALDO EMERSON THE GRAVE OF A POETESS by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE BRIDGE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE THREE WARNINGS by HESTER LYNCH (SALUSBURY) PIOZZI AT THE CEDARS by DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT VERSES WRITTEN IN AN ALCOVE by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |