To Mrs Reynolds' Cat

And like a dying lady, lean and pale
Who totters forth, wrapped in a gauzy veil,
Out of her chamber, led by the insane
And feeble wanderings of her fading brain,
The moon arose in the murky East,
A white and shapeless mass-

The Waning Moon, Percy Bysshe Shelley

(The final word of the poem, mass, is at times replaced by “light.” I like both, but personally I prefer “mass”.

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