THE NEIGHBOR sits in his window and plays the flute. From my bed I can hear him, And the round notes flutter and tap about the room, And hit against each other, Blurring to unexpected chords. It is very beautiful, With the little flute-notes all about me, In the darkness. In the daytime The neighbor eats bread and onions with one hand And copies music with the other. He is fat and has a bald head, So I do not look at him, But run quickly past his window. There is always the sky to look at, Or the water in the well! But when night comes and he plays his flute, I think of him as a young man, With gold seals hanging from his watch, And a blue coat with silver buttons. As I lie in my bed The flute-notes push against my ears and lips, And I go to sleep, dreaming. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE DAYS OF PRISMATIC COLOR by MARIANNE MOORE THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 16 by OMAR KHAYYAM FROM AN EXCAVATION ON THE WARRIOR RIVER by ESTHER BARRETT ARGO THE SPIRIT OF THE SABBATH by ISIDORE G. ASCHER THE SLEEPY SONG by JOSEPHINE DODGE DASKAM BACON SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 8. THEE by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE QUAKER POET; VERSES ON SEEING MYSELF SO DESIGNATED by BERNARD BARTON I'M SADDEST WHEN I SING by THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY TO ALEXIS IN ANSWER TO HIS POEM AGAINST FRUITION by APHRA BEHN |