Page:Maud, and other poems.djvu/112

92 But babble, merely for babble. For I never whisper'd a private affair Within the hearing of cat or mouse, No, not to myself in the closet alone, But I heard it shouted at once from the top of the house; Everything came to be known: Who told him we were there?

Not that gray old wolf, for he came not back From the wilderness, full of wolves, where he used to lie; He has gather'd the bones for his o'ergrown whelp to crack; Crack them now for yourself, and howl, and die.

Prophet, curse me the blabbing lip, And curse me the British vermin, the rat;