HAD we but world enough, and time,
This boldness, Kitten, were no crime
I could sit and dangle strings
Craft of floss and shining things.
Thou couldst nap along my side
In soft repose: On dreaming tide
That causes whiskers to softly twitch. I would
Love you though you make me itch,
And you should, if you please, refuse
To wait ‘till passing of the evening news.
Before thy voice would soft unfurl
Vaster than empires, and louder still;
An hundred trumpets should call to praise
Thine eyes upon my forehead gaze;
While you await bites of trout,
Never fear the casting out: Reserved;
For those much older and past their prime,
Youthfulness and innocence betide.
For, Kitten, you deserve this state,
Nor would I endure at lower rate.
  But at my back I always hear
The tick of claws as you draw near;
And leap to defy both time and space
Upon my shoulder take your place.
Thy softness shall no more be found,
Nor, from the prick of nails, shall sound
My piercing song: then gravity try
That long evolved defiance.
And a thousand thousand nights and lives,
Of near escapes and moonlit dives:
The perfect form, with perfect grace,
The air itself do there embrace.
  Now therefore, while I keep my wits
Upon my lap, Kitten, quietly sits,
And while thy willing purr transpires
As time ticks past and sleep inspires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
With fierce defense and mighty play
Rather than leap up from the dark
And risk the wroth that daemon spark.
That all the sting of claw betide
And injurious prove to both beside,
And test the tug of gravity still
Through the iron tug of will:
Thus, we make our dance and settle
On quiet camaraderie.