I came back with a start -

To the class room and the task at hand.

Dreaming seems to be my fault,

But when I gaze across the trees

Murmuring slowly in the breeze

I see the things I mean to do

Some day, the books I'll write,

Adventures in a foreign land,

A home in a quiet little street,

With maybe the patter of little feet -

Window dreaming, this fancy is,

But better men than I

Have window dreamed e'er this,

And some of those dreams are true,

And though wastefull of time, this habit of mine,

Tis a wonderful thing to do.