Josephine Preston Peabody

“ When grown-up people play;
But every time I sing, myself,
It sounds a different way.
And when I've sung the book all through,
And every page, around,
I stand it upside down and sing,
To see how that will sound.
I sing how all the things outside
The window look to me;
The shiny wrinkles in the road,
And then, about my Tree;
THE GREEN SINGING-BOOK
I sing about the City, too,
The noises and the wheels;
And Windows blinking in the sun;—
I sing the way it feels.
And if a Sparrow flies across,
I put him in the Song.—
I sing whatever happens in,
To make it last for long. ”

“ Windows
nce, and in the daytime too, I made myself afraid,
Playing Eyelids-Up-and-Down, with the window-shade;
Till the Houses seemed to watch People going by;
And they kept me looking, too,—wondering where and why.
If I were that Other Boy,—if I were those Men,
Going by with things to sell,—who would I be, then?
Windows with their eyebrows high; windows like a frown,
Thinking it all over, so, with the curtains down;
Tall ones that are somehow sad, narrow ones that blink,—
All the Windows you can see make you think, and think. ”

“ If I were that Old Man, and I looked up at me
Watching from the window here, Oh, then how would it be?
Sometimes they are golden, with shining in their eyes.—
Every time the sun sets, it happens like surprise,—
And so bright, I almost forget the dream I made;
But I keep it, for the days I want to make myself afraid.
If I were that Boy who limps,—now it's dark and snowing,
And if I were going home,—Oh, where would I be going? ”