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ADELE AUS DER OHE
What is her playing like?
Half-sleeps the wind above a swirling pool
no more, no more.
Ah, what celestial art!
float, All music, into the trancèd mind and heart! Her hand scarce stirs the singing, wiry
metal – Hear from the wild-rose fall each perfect
And can we have, on earth, of heaven the
whole! Heard thoughts - the soul of inexpressible
thought; Roses of sound That strew melodious leaves upon the silent
ground; And music that is music's very soul, Without one touch of earth, Too tender, even, for sorrow, and too bright for mirth!
Richard Watson Gilder.