Classic Poem

How often have I wished that he could speak —
That jet-black mute with chrysoberyl eyes
Who on my hearth-rug indolently lies
A-blink with solid comfort, while the bleak
Wind of the night makes the cold shutters creak.
I have been told that cats are wondrous wise,
Yet I have seen fools with that same deep guise,
That owlish eye. Let but a trapped mouse squeak!
Then would his glare of wisdom be applied!
Then would the mystic his true nature show!
His ancestors in Egypt mummified
For Isis many centuries ago
Could doubtless puzzling oracles decide.
I quite distrust that Tony could do so.