document.write("Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;   <br />Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see   <br />A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings   <br />And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.   <br />   <br />In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song<br />Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong   <br />To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside   <br />And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.   <br />   <br />So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour   <br />With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour <br />Of childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast   <br />Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.");