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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384496" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Music In The Flat</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">When Tom and I were married, we took a little flat; <br>I had a taste for singing and playing and all that.<br>And Tom, who loved to hear me, said he hoped <br> I would not stop<br>All practice, like so many wives who let their <br> music drop.<br>So I resolved to set apart an hour or two each day<br>To keeping vocal chords and hands in trim to sing and play.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The second morning I had been for half and hour or more<br>At work on Haydn’s masses, when a tap came at my door.<br>A nurse, who wore a dainty cap and apron, and a smile, <br>Ran down to ask if I would cease my music for awhile.<br>The lady in the flat above was very ill, she said, <br>And the sound of my piano was distracting to her head.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A fortnight’s exercises lost, ere I began them, when, <br>The following morning at my door, there came that tap again; <br>A woman with an anguished face implored me to forego<br>My music for some days to come – a man was dead below.<br>I shut down my piano till the corpse had left the house, <br>And spoke to Tom in whispers and was quiet as a mouse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A week of labour limbered up my stiffened hand and voice, <br>I stole an extra hour from sleep, to practice and rejoice; <br>When, ting-a-ling, the door-bell rang a discord in my trill –<br>The baby in the flat across was very, very ill.<br>For ten long days that infant’s life was hanging by a thread, <br>And all that time my instrument was silent as the dead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So pain and death and sickness came in one perpetual row, <br>When babies were not born above, then tenants died below.<br>The funeral over underneath, some one fell ill on top, <br>And begged me, for the love of God, to let my music drop.<br>When trouble went not up or down, it stalked across the hall, <br>And so in spite of my resolve, I do not play at all.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ella+Wheeler+Wilcox">Ella Wheeler Wilcox</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=384496" data-title="Music In The Flat de Ella Wheeler Wilcox" data-description="When Tom and I were married, we took a little flat; 
I had a taste for singing and playing and all that.
And Tom, who loved to hear me, said he hoped 
 I would not stop
All practice, like so many wives who let their 
 music drop.
So I resolved to ..."></div>
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