While I Sit Beside The Window I Can Hear The Pigeons Coo, That The Air Is Warm And Blue, And How Well The Young Bird Flew - Then I Fold My Arms And Scold The Heart That Thought The Pigeons Knew. While I Sit Beside The Window I Can Watch The Flowers Grow Till The Seeds Are Ripe And Blow To The Fruitful Earth Below - Then I Shut My Eyes And Tell My Heart The Flowers Cannot Know. While I Sit Beside The Window I Am Growing Old And Drear; Does It Matter What I Hear, What I See, Or What I Fear? I Can Fold My Hands And Hush My Heart That Is Straining To A Tear. The Earth Is Gay With Leaf And Flower, The Fruit Is Ripe Upon The Tree, The Pigeons Coo In The Swinging Bower, But I Sit Wearily Watching A Beggar-Woman Nurse A Baby On Her Knee.