I'm kept warm.

"...You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief
and the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?"

-from T.S. Eliot's The Burial of the Dead

The last part is from Tristan and Isolde and it says,

"Fresh blows the wind
To the homeland
My Irish darling
Where do you linger?"