Of all the windows in our house, I like the attic window best; Because it ’s high and small and round, And oh, so different from the rest! For every single way you look Is like a fairy picture-book!
Such lovely things there are outside! Red chimney-stacks, and near, blue sky, And fat cats walking on the roofs, And baby cloudlets skipping by; And pigeons cooing on the sill, So I can stroke them, if I will!
The smoke plumes from the chimney-stacks Are banners waving to and fro, While gallant knights, with prancing steeds, Through the long roof-lanes come and go, The clouds at sunset often hold Great palaces of shining gold.
The wind comes rushing round the eaves, Shakes the loose catch, and cries, “How do?” Then whirls away to chase the birds And tumble down a nest or two; But though he ’s rough as he can be, He always has a laugh for me.
The sun steps in and cries “Hello! Here ’s just the place I ‘m looking for!” He sees my books upon the shelf, He sees my toys upon the floor— And then he sees me sitting there, And runs warm fingers through my hair.
Just think! if some day I should be A great white bird with beating wing, And from my window fly away Over the edge of everything, Oh, would n't it be fine to know Where all the summer daytimes go!
