What do they dream about standing there
In the windows facing the street?
Eyes transfixed in a strange, far stare,
Smiles so ineffably sweet;
Lady and gentleman dummies clad
In the newest fashion, the latest fad.
Garbed so expensively, well turned out
What have they got to commune about?

Winter comes. Now a chill wind stirs;
The rain comes pattering down
But they suddenly snuggle in coats and furs
And the coziest cloaks in town.
Field-glasses there or a race-book here
'The National? Why, of course, my dear,
I mean to be there tho' Trophet may freeze.
How could I miss it, in clothes like these?'

Spring smiles down and the days grow bright,
And the ladies, garbed anew,
Change, like the tulips, overnight
To gowns of many a hue.
As in a garden gay colors glow,
They are thinking of Henley, the Cup, the Show;
While each glad gentleman, blazer clad,
Is the beau ideal of the sporting lad.

But Henley comes, and the Show, the Cup;
Yet no superior 'gent.'
No simpering lady e'er turns up:
For, still in their windows pent.
Dressed for the revel, how like they seem
To me and to many who stand and dream:
Poor human dummies, but half alive,
Who are always 'going' but never arrive.