Through long nursery nights he stood By my bed unwearying, Loomed gigantic, formless, queer, Purring in my haunted ear That same hideous nightmare thing, Talking, as he lapped my blood, In a voice cruel and flat, Saying for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..." That one word was all he said, That one word through all my sleep, In monotonous mock despair. Nonsense may be light as air, But there's Nonsense that can keep Horror bristling round the head, When a voice cruel and flat Says for ever, "Cat! ... Cat! ... Cat!..." He had faded, he was gone Years ago with Nursery Land When he leapt on me again From the clank of a night train, Overpowered me foot and head, Lapped my blood, while on and on The old voice cruel and flat Says for ever, "Cat!... Cat!... Cat!..." Morphia drowsed, again I lay In a crater by High Wood: He was there with straddling legs, Staring eyes as big as eggs, Purring as he lapped my blood, His black bulk darkening the day, With a voice cruel and flat, "Cat!... Cat!... Cat!..." he said, "Cat!... Cat!..." When I'm shot through heart and head, And there's no choice but to die, The last word I'll hear, no doubt, Won't be "Charge!" or "Bomb them out!" Nor the stretcher-bearer's cry, "Let that body be, he's dead!" But a voice cruel and flat Saying for ever, "Cat!... Cat!... Cat!" ESCAPE (_August_ 6, 1916.--Officer previously reported died of wounds, now reported wounded: Graves, Captain R., Royal Welch Fusiliers.) ... But I _was_ dead, an hour or more. I woke when I'd already passed the door That Cerberus guards, and half-way down the road To Lethe, as an old Greek signpost showed. Above me, on my stretcher swinging by, I saw new stars in the subterrene sky: A Cross, a Rose in bloom, a Cage with bars, And a barbed Arrow feathered in fine stars. I felt the vapours of forgetfulness Float in my nostrils. Oh, may Heaven bless Dear Lady Proserpine, who saw me wake, And, stooping over me, for Henna's sake Cleared my poor buzzing head and sent me back Breathless, with leaping heart along the track. After me roared and clattered angry hosts Of demons, heroes, and policeman-ghosts. "Life! life! I can't be dead! I won't be dead! Damned if I'll die for any one!" I said.... Cerberus stands and grins above me now, Wearing three heads--lion, and lynx, and sow. "Quick, a revolver! But my Webley's gone, Stolen!... No bombs ... no knife.... The crowd swarms on, Bellows, hurls stones.... Not even a honeyed sop ... Nothing.... Good Cerberus!... Good dog!... but stop! Stay!... A great luminous thought ... I do believe There's still some morphia that I bought on leave." Then swiftly Cerberus' wide mouths I cram With army biscuit smeared with ration jam; And sleep lurks in the luscious plum and apple. He crunches, swallows, stiffens, seems to grapple With the all-powerful poppy ... then a snore, A crash; the beast blocks up the corridor With monstrous hairy carcase, red and dun-- Too late! for I've sped through. O Life! O Sun!