All day I wait and stare,
Or drowse with lowered lid;
No passer finds me fair,
Or dreams of beauty hid. None wonders what I do,
All curtained and discreet;
I am for looking through
Upon the grey-stoned street. But when the sun stoops low
Each pauses to behold:
"Are you but glass aglow,
Or are you truly gold?" I frame, when sunset dies,
Hearthfire and candlelight:
"Your lamplit beauty cries
Above the stars of night." All day I wait and stare,
Or drowse with lowered lid;
No passer finds me fair,
Or dreams of beauty hid.