Classic Poem

Who is this who affects a window,
Paning her eyes with blue of glass,
Feeding her ears on luscious wisdom
And vanity of those who pass?

Knows she no glass save that shimmers
With rain, or where the sunlight lies —
Are there no panes more subtly lighted
On the far side of her eyes?

Knows she no sound save whose echoes
Footprint the dust — what of the tones
Beyond her hearing, cool, enduring,
As water falling over stones?

A pane of glass across her vision,
A wind of sound against her ears,
Is healthy only if it sharpen
More than she sees, more than she hears.