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ADELE AUS DER OHE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: What is her playing like?
Last Line: Too tender, even, for sorrow, and too bright for mirth!
Subject(s): Chopin, Frederic Francois (1810-1849); Liszt, Franz (1811-1886); Music & Musicians


(LISZT)


I

WHAT is her playing like?
'T is like the wind in wintry northern valleys:
A dream-pause; then it rallies
And once more bends the pine-tops, shatters
The ice-crags, whitely scatters
The spray along the paths of avalanches,
Startles the blood, and every visage blanches.

II

Half-sleeps the wind above a swirling pool
That holds the trembling shadow of the trees;
Where waves too wildly rush to freeze
Though all the air is cool;
And hear, oh hear, while musically call
With nearer tinkling sounds, or distant roar,
Voices of fall on fall;
And now a swelling blast, that dies; and now -- no more, no more.

(CHOPIN)

I

AH, what celestial art!
And can sweet thoughts become pure tone and 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 petal!

II

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!






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