The neighbour sits in his window and plays the flute. <br />From my bed I can hear him, <br />And the round notes flutter and tap about the room, <br />And hit against each other, <br />Blurring to unexpected chords. <br />It is very beautiful, <br />With the little flute-notes all about me, <br />In the darkness. <br /> <br />In the daytime, <br />The neighbour eats bread and onions with one hand <br />And copies music with the other. <br />He is fat and has a bald head, <br />So I do not look at him, <br />But run quickly past his window. <br />There is always the sky to look at, <br />Or the water in the well! <br /> <br />But when night comes and he plays his flute, <br />I think of him as a young man, <br />With gold seals hanging from his watch, <br />And a blue coat with silver buttons. <br />As I lie in my bed <br />The flute-notes push against my ears and lips, <br />And I go to sleep, dreaming.<br /><br />Amy Lowell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/music-189/
