But where was the dragon, the scale-clad dragon, the dragon that Dickon saw, The genuine dragon, The pitiless dragon, The dragon that knew no law? Lo, just as the word to charge rang out, And before they could give their battle shout, On a stony ledge Of the ridge's edge, With its lips curled back and its teeth laid bare, And a hiss that ripped the morning air, With its backbone arched And its tail well starched, With bristling hair and flattened ears, What shape of courage and wrath appears? A cat, a tortoiseshell mother-cat! And a very diminutive cat at that! And below her, nesting upon the ground, A litter of tiny kits they found: Tortoiseshell kittens, one, two, three, Lying as snug as snug could be. And they took the kittens with shouts of laughter And turned for home, and the cat came after. And when in the camp they told their tale, The women--but stop! I draw a veil. The cat had tent-life forced upon her And was kept in comfort and fed with honour; But Dickon has heard his fill Of the furious dragon They tried to bag on The dragonless summit, the gorse-clad summit, the summit of Winter Hill! FLUFFY, A CAT So now your tale of years is done, Old Fluff, my friend, and you have won, Beyond our land of mist and rain, Your way to the Elysian plain, Where through the shining hours of heat A cat may bask and lap and eat; Where goldfish glitter in the streams, And mice refresh your waking dreams, And all, in fact, is planned--and that's Its great delight--to please the cats. Yet sometimes, too, your placid mind Will turn to those you've left behind, And most to one who sheds her tears, The mistress of your later years, Who sheds her tears to summon back Her faithful cat, the white-and-black. Fluffy, full well you understood The frequent joys of motherhood-- To lick, from pointed tail to nape, The mewing litter into shape; To show, with pride that condescends, Your offspring to your human friends, And all our sympathy to win For every kit tucked snugly in. In your familiar garden ground We've raised a tributary mound, And passing by it we recite Your merits and your praise aright. "Here lies," we say, "from care released A faithful, furry, friendly beast. Responsive to the lightest word, About these walks her purr was heard. Love she received, for much she earned, And much in kindness she returned. Wherefore her comrades go not by Her little grave without a sigh." THE LEAN-TO-SHED (COMMUNICATED BY AN EIGHT-YEAR-OLD)