And it's "Edith, look here! Oh, I say! what a rum
Lot of things you can see from that window!"
And yet, as I told you, there's only that fly
Buzzing round in the pane, and a bit of blue sky,
And the girl in the opposite window, that I
Look at when SHE looks from HER window.
And yet, I've been thinking I'd so like to see
If what goes on behind HER, goes on behind ME!
And then, goodness gracious! what fun it would be
For us BOTH as we sit by our window!
How we'd know when the parcels were hid in a drawer,
Or things taken out that one never sees more;
What people come in and go out of the door,
That we never see from the window!
And that night when the stranger came home with our Jane
I might SEE what I HEARD then, that sounded so plain--
Like when my wet fingers I rub on the pane
(Which they won't let ME do on my window).
And I'd know why papa shut the door with a slam,
And said something funny that sounded like "jam,"
And then "Edith--where are you?" I said, "Here I am."
"Ah, that's right, dear, look out of the window!"
They say when I'm grown up these things will appear
More plain than they do when I look at them here,
But I think I see some things uncommonly clear,
As I sit and look down from the window.
What things? Oh, the things that I make up, you know,
Out of stories I've read--and they all pass below.
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