"Woman and Cat" by Paul Verlaine
Woman and Cat
by Paul Verlaine, as translated by C. F. MacIntyre
She was playing with her cat,
and it was marvelous to see
white hand and white paw, pitty-pat,
spar in the evening sportively.
The little wretch hid in her paws,
those black silk mittens, murderously,
the deadly agate of her claws,
keen as a razor's edge can be.
Her steel drawn in, the other seemed
all sugar, the sly hypocrite,
but the devil didn't lose a bit . . .
and in the room where, sonorous,
her airy laughter rang, there gleamed
four sharp points of phosphorous.
by Paul Verlaine, as translated by C. F. MacIntyre
She was playing with her cat,
and it was marvelous to see
white hand and white paw, pitty-pat,
spar in the evening sportively.
The little wretch hid in her paws,
those black silk mittens, murderously,
the deadly agate of her claws,
keen as a razor's edge can be.
Her steel drawn in, the other seemed
all sugar, the sly hypocrite,
but the devil didn't lose a bit . . .
and in the room where, sonorous,
her airy laughter rang, there gleamed
four sharp points of phosphorous.