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THE KITTEN.
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205

THE KITTEN.

It does not matter much, love,
You did not mean to slay,
You did not think a touch, love,
Would throb throughout the day;
You did not mean it much, love,
I know you were in play.
A kitten's claws can scratch, love—
You think it is not so?—
I think they can despatch, love,
Although you answer “No”—
I feel that they can scratch, love,
And make the red blood flow.
It does not matter, sweet love,
That half triumphant tear,
'Tis something of a feat, love,
For me to have brought near;—
Although to see it, sweet love,
Has cost me very dear.