Disco

In my brain there walks about,
As though he were in his own home,
A lovely cat, strong, sweet, charming.
When he mews, one scarcely hears him,

His tone is so discreet and soft;
But purring or growling, his voice
Is always deep and rich;
That is his charm and secret.

That voice forms into drops, trickles
Into the depths of my being,
Fills me like harmonious verse
And gladdens me like a philtre.

It lulls to sleep the sharpest pains,
Contains all ecstasies;
To say the longest sentences,
It has no need of words,

No, there’s no bow that plays upon
My heart, that perfect instrument,
And makes its most vibrant chord
Sing more gloriously

Than your voice, mysterious cat,
Seraphic cat, singular cat,
In whom, as in angels, all is
As subtle as harmonious!

Charles Baudelaire – The Cat I (Flowers of Evil)