each one stands
While the mittens are tried on his clumsy hands;
Then her glasses drop to the end of her nose,
And her wits go wandering off in a doze,
And as never before,
Does old Puss snore!
She is off to that dream-land paradise
Of cats, where cupboards are full of mice;
Where white and sweet and big as the sea
Are the saucers of warm new milk--ah me,
There is no cream
Like that in a dream!
There the ways of things are very absurd;
For a bobolink, or a yellow bird,
Comes of its own accord, and sits
On every knitting-needle that knits,
And pipes and sings,
As the rocker swings.
Suddenly there is a noise of feet--
Rattle and clatter and patter and beat!
Old Puss makes a flying leap from her chair,
With a half-awake and startled stare,
Striving to see
What it may be.
Helter-skelter the kittens appear;
"Oh mother dear, we very much fear
That we have lost our mittens!" they cry.