In early childhood, my parents often read part of thisthis to me as a lullaby. Together with the slow movement of Schubert's String Quintet, it remains the archetypal soundtrack for a hot day when you'd rather be doing nothing, and pretty much sums up the degree of lassitude there has been about the place recently. For "walls of shadowy granite" read "the ancient stones that make up St M's" and you'll know where to find me, dozing in a corner
There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night-dews on still waters between walls
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
Than tired eyelids upon tired eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
Here are cool mosses deep,
And through the moss the ivies creep,
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.