Publisher's Synopsis
"The window box across the street Is filled with scarlet flowers; They glow, like bits of sunset cloud, Across the dragging hours. What though the mist be like a shroud What though the day be dreary? The window box across the street Is warm, and gay, and cheery! The window box across the street Is filled with scarlet flowers; I almost catch their perfume sweet. Above the sound of tramping feet, They sing of country bowers. Against the house that looms so gray, They smile in-well, a friendly way."
