A person stands outside a bookshop, close enough to the glass that their breath leaves a patch of mist on it. That small, everyday detail sets the scene: the speaker is looking in but not yet inside, drawn to the shelves and held back by the window.
The second stanza turns from the glass to the books themselves. Some "sing," which suggests a pull toward the sound and beauty of language, a kind of music the speaker can almost hear through the pane. Others "give me a home," a warmer, more settled idea. Books here are shelter as well as pleasure.
The feeling is quiet longing, but also contentment. The speaker seems to find comfort simply in looking and wanting. The mood is hushed and gentle, like a pause on a street, and the short lines make it feel as fleeting as the fading mist on the window. The poem leaves us with the idea that reading can be both a song and a place to live.