It was the rainbow gave thee birth, and left thee all her lovely hues.
But cats to me are strange, so strange I cannot sleep if one is near.
Pleasure's a Moth, that sleeps by day And dances by false glare at night; But Joy's a Butterfly, that loves To spread its wings in Nature's light.
No matter where the body is, the mind is free to go elsewhere.
Now shall I walk or shall I ride? 'Ride,' Pleasure said; 'Walk,' Joy replied.
What is this life if, full of care, we have no time to stand and stare.