Unofficial
ONE morning, my heart can remember,
I sat dreaming there,
In the 'governor's' chair
In the office. The month was November,
And the weather a subject for prayer.
My mind strayed through visions unbounded--
Far-off seemed the din
That King William Street's in,
And the quill of the 'junior' sounded
Like the squeak of an elf's violin.
I was roused with a start--some one entered.
Though ground-glass divide
Off the sanctum inside,
The star where my homage was centred
In the office without I descried.
'Oh, kind Fate, to bring me my Kitty!
The boy I can send
At the bank to attend:
One partner's just gone from the City,
And the other is at the West End.
'Change two pounds, boy, for threepenny pieces!
And there isn't a franc
In the place!--I will thank
You to take down these coupons from Creasy's
To the London and Westminster Bank.'
He is gone! This can never be Kitty,
Alone here with me!
Can this ever be she,
Laughing here in the heart of the City,
With the old office cat on her knee?
'I hope, Ben,' she says, 'you are stronger,
And I hope it's not true
Work is injuring you;
And I'd better not stay any longer,
As you seem to have so much to do!'
But she does not go yet. Still she lingers,
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poem by Edith Nesbit
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