Among the smoke and fog of a December afternoon You have the scene arrange itself—as it will seem todo— With "I have saved this afternoon for you"; And four wax candles in the darkened room Four rings of light upon the ceiling overhead, An atmosphere of Juliet's tomb Prepared for all the things to be said, or left unsaid. We have been, let us say, to hear the latest Pole Transmit the Preludes, through his hair and finger-tips. "So intimate, this Chopin, that I think his soul Should be resurrected only among friends Some two or three, who will not touch the bloom That is rubbed and questioned in the concert room." -- And so the conversation slips Among velleities and carefully caught regrets Through attenuated tones of violins Mingled with remote cornets And begins.
Addendum: My friend Iain shot a great photo of the Kelvingrove Art Gallery today.