I pass before the windows lit
         With inward, curtained light,
 And in the houses I see flit
 Now and again shadows that hit
         The curtain's yellowed whit
 Others a little gleam but show:
 Inside, the people chat, I kno
 And I feel cold and feel alone,
         Not that I no one have,
 But - ah that dreams should ne’er be done! -
 That among many I am one,
         As among flowers a grave;
 One, and more lonely than can be
 Imagined conceivabl
 If l were born not to aspire
         Beyond the life that lead
 These people whom life cannot tire,
 Who chat and slumber by the fire
         Contentedly indeed,
 Behind those curtains, by that light
 That to the street is somewhat bright;