He said: <br /> <br />"In the winter dusk <br />When the pavements were gleaming with rain, <br />I walked thru a dingy street <br />Hurried, harassed, <br />Thinking of all my problems that never are solved. <br />Suddenly out of the mist, a flaring gas-jet <br />Shone from a huddled shop. <br />I saw thru the bleary window <br />A mass of playthings: <br />False-faces hung on strings, <br />Valentines, paper and tinsel, <br />Tops of scarlet and green, <br />Candy, marbles, jacks-- <br />A confusion of color <br />Pathetically gaudy and cheap. <br />All of my boyhood <br />Rushed back. <br />Once more these things were treasures <br />Wildly desired. <br />With covetous eyes I looked again at the marbles, <br />The precious agates, the pee-wees, the chinies-- <br />Then I passed on. <br /> <br />In the winter dusk, <br />The pavements were gleaming with rain; <br />There in the lighted window <br />I left my boyhood."<br /><br />Sara Teasdale<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lighted-window/
