A CHILD’S NIGHTMAREBy Robert GravesTHROUGH long nursery nights he stoodBy my bed unwearying,Loomed gigantic, formless, queer,Purring in my haunted earThat 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 keepHorror bristling round the head,When a voice cruel and flatSays for ever, “Cat!

… Cat!

… Cat!

…”He had faded, he was goneYears ago with Nursery Land,When he leapt on me againFrom the clank of a night train,Overpowered me foot and head,Lapped my blood, while on and onThe old voice cruel and flatSays for ever, “Cat!

… Cat!

… Cat!

…”Morphia drowsed, again I layIn 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!

… 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 flatSaying for ever, “Cat!

… Cat!

… Cat!

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