Comfort
As I mused by the hearthside,
Puss said to me;
‘there burns the fire, man,
and here sit we.
Four walls around us
against the cold air;
and the latch drawn close
to the draughty stair.
A roof o’er our heads
star-proof, moon immune,
and a wind in the chimney
to wail us a tune.’
‘What felicity!’ miaowed he,
‘where none may intrude;
just man and beast– met
in this solitude!’
‘Dear God, what security,
comfort and bliss!
and to think, too what ages
have brought us to this!’
‘You in your sheep’s’ wool coat,
buttons of bone,
and me in my fur-about
on the warm hearthstone’
