XIII LITTLE HOUSES (Hill Street).

Little houses, though prim, have often a secret glance That can speak to a heart outside—as one speaks to me!— And even their close-drawn curtains seem to enhance The charm of their sly reserve, of their mystery.... I like to walk through the Square to your quiet street, And look at your windows—with just a suspicion of pride— For I may go in, when I dare, and sit at your feet, But the people who pass can’t guess what it’s like inside. They haven’t a notion—but I see your small armchair And your dog, by the fire, and your novel thrown on the floor; And I know there will always be flowers when you are there, And always a smile for me, when I open your door!