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.
