How fair this spot,
This tatty arm chair by the fire,
Where music warms and calms,
And where desire, expressed in melody
And graceful, peaceful, arching phrase,
Becomes a thing of abstract beauty,
And the days of endless rain and biting wind
Have no effect at all upon the mind.
How exquisite is the hour,
Spent where the lake lies blue
And songs of love and happiness
Seem dreams which might come true.