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As from the house your mother sees You playing round the garden trees So you may see, if you will look Through the windows of this book Another child, far, far away And in another garden, play But do not think you can at all By knocking on the window, call That child to hear you. He intent Is all on his play-business bent He does not hear; he will not look Nor yet be lured out of this book For, long ago, the truth to say He has grown up and gone away And it is but a child of air That lingers in the garden there As from the house your mother sees You playing round the garden trees So you may see, if you will look Through the windows of this book From Letras Mania