Page:Verses–Blanche·Baughan-1898.pdf/76



AS small winds at a window With just as little art, These gusts of song come calling At the casement of your heart

Open a tiny chink in it, And let them in, I pray! They will but throw a country kiss To you—and run away.

MY room has bare white walls, —So every sunbeam bright Runs naked round my room In unoffended light.