But had I many nights serene
When with me in midnight’s walk,
Only that on which I lean
Was my standing thought.
Had I many nights to see,
Surely one would that night be.
One day I sat in a wooden frame
That I found in the attic,
And as I thought all stills the same,
I set out to frame some music.
And what trouble did it seem,
To make this fancy true,
That I didn’t think of a likely thing
And think of a window!
So I took a hammer and the frame
And thought of every sound
That never could be heard in dream,
But could be by a window found!
I dedicate this poem to siti (my grandmother) who spends long hours by a window reading the Quran, or watching us children play. I love her greater than life.