(Hill Street, Knightsbridge)
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