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MISS NANCY ELLICOTT Strode across the hills and broke them, Rode across the hills and broke them- The barren New England hills- Riding to hounds Over the cow-pasture. Miss Nancy Ellicott smoked And danced

ILS ont vu les Pays-Bas, ils rentrent à Terre Haute; Mais une nuit d’été, les voici à Ravenne, A l’aise entre deux draps, chez deux centaines de punaises; La sueur aestivale, et une forte

GROWLTIGER was a Bravo Cat, who lived upon a barge; In fact he was the roughest cat that ever roamed at large. From Gravesend up to Oxford he pursued his evil aims, Rejoicing in

You’ve read of several kinds of Cat, And my opinion now is that You should need no interpreter To understand their character. You now have learned enough to see That Cats are much like

Old Deuteronomy’s lived a long time; He’s a Cat who has lived many lives in succession. He was famous in proverb and famous in rhyme A long while before Queen Victoria’s accession. Old Deuteronomy’s

You ought to know Mr. Mistoffelees! The Original Conjuring Cat (There can be no doubt about that). Please listen to me and don’t scoff. All his Inventions are off his own bat. There’s no

APENECK SWEENEY spreads his knees Letting his arms hang down to laugh, The zebra stripes along his jaw Swelling to maculate giraffe. The circles of the stormy moon Slide westward toward the River Plate,

I OBSERVE: “Our sentimental friend the moon! Or possibly (fantastic, I confess) It may be Prester John’s balloon Or an old battered lantern hung aloft To light poor travellers to their distress.” She then:

Gus is the Cat at the Theatre Door. His name, as I ought to have told you before, Is really Asparagus. That’s such a fuss To pronounce, that we usually call him just Gus.

LE garçon délabré qui n’a rien à faire Que de se gratter les doigts et se pencher sur mon épaule: “Dans mon pays il fera temps pluvieux, Du vent, du grand soleil, et de

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema

THEY are rattling breakfast plates in basement kitchens, And along the trampled edges of the street I am aware of the damp souls of housemaids Sprouting despondently at area gates. The brown waves of

Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s called the Hidden Paw For he’s the master criminal who can defy the Law. He’s the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad’s despair: For when they reach the

And the trees about me, Let them be dry and leafless; let the rocks Groan with continual surges; and behind me Make all a desolation. Look, look, wenches! PAINT me a cavernous waste shore

Tra-la-la-la-la-la-laire-nil nisi divinum stabile est; caetera fumus-the gondola Stopped, the old palace was there, how charming its grey and pink-goats and Monkeys, with such hair too!-so the countess passed on until she came through

WEBSTER was much possessed by death And saw the skull beneath the skin; And breastless creatures under ground Leaned backward with a lipless grin. Daffodil bulbs instead of balls Stared from the sockets of

The Waste Land By T. S. Eliot “Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis Vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Sibylla ti theleis; respondebat illa: apothanein thelo.” I. THE BURIAL

The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter, It isn’t just one of your holiday games; You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter When I tell you, a cat must

Similiter et omnes revereantur Diaconos, ut mandatum Jesu Christi; et Episcopum, ut Jesum Christum, existentem filium Patris; Presbyteros autem, ut concilium Dei et Conjunctionem Apostolorum. Sine his Ecclesia non vocatur; de quibus suadeo vos

Jellicle Cats come out tonight, Jellicle Cats come one come all: The Jellicle Moon is shining bright Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball. Jellicle Cats are black and white, Jellicle Cats are rather small;

Thou hast committed- Fornication: but that was in another country, And besides, the wench is dead. The Jew of Malta. I AMONG the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene

O quam te memorem virgo… STAND on the highest pavement of the stair- Lean on a garden urn- Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair- Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise-

‘A cold coming we had of it, Just the worst time of the year For a journey, and such a journey: The ways deep and the weather sharp, The very dead of winter.’ And