I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore

To someone of my age, who has seen the world and now wants only repose and beauty, Lake Como is the perfect place. I do not know how many times I have visited it in the last two decades, but over 100 watercolours (not counting the ones I have given away or sold) testify to its hold on my affections. Twice a day I walk up from the castle to my painting-tower, whence the whole stupendous panorama of the lake can be seen, pointing to St Moritz mountain in the north, and to the south to Como itself, city of silk. It is quiet up there. You hear, of course, the tinkling of bells round the necks of the semi-tame mountain goats. But they have a cunning way of creeping about when near me, so that their bells do not sound, and silently purloining one of my brushes, spread about on the grass.