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Elsa: Fuhl' ich zu Dir so susz mein Herz entbrennen. Grand and perfect repose is here the chief thing. In singing the passage, I found that I paused a little on the second and fourth part of the bar, but of course in such a manner as to be scarcely perceptible in a rhythmical sense, only as a matter of expression. Lohengrin: Ath-mest Du nicht mit mir die suss-en.
Lysons, commenting on this derivation, adds in a note: "The Saxon word ful is translated foul: fuhl, a fowl: full and fullan are full, as full mona, the full moon." This latter meaning has been chosen by the authors of the Anglo-Saxon dictionaries, notably Somner, Lye, and Bosworth.
The first is an Albumblatt of curious dun colors; the second is a Capriccietto, a strange whim; the third is a beautiful bit called "May Blossom." Gesegnet ist die Stunde, sprach sie mit süssem Munde, mir ist kein Leid geschehn den Himmel fühl' ich stehn in meines Herzens Grunde.
He was silent for a moment and looked at me with haggard eyes. Then suddenly he wailed: "Kamerad, sag mir doch Comrade, tell me is my arm still there, or is it gone?" "He wants to know if he's still got his arm," I said to the orderly, who turned to the prisoner and exclaimed: "Arm bon, goot!" "Aber ich fühl ja nichts But I can't feel anything for God's sake tell me if it's still there!
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