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 A LIBRARY by EMILY DICKINSON WHERE THE PICNIC WAS by THOMAS HARDY ODE ON SOLITUDE (FINAL PRINTED VERSION) by ALEXANDER POPE DRUG STORE by JOHN VAN ALSTYN WEAVER THE TENT ON THE BEACH: 8. THE CABLE HYMN by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ELEGIAC SONNET TO A MOPSTICK by WILLIAM BECKFORD PSALM 37. NOLI AEMULARI by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE DIRGE ON THE DEATH OF ADAMS AND JEFFERSON by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |