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Updated: May 7, 2025
Within, Kate had finished her selections from opera and bouffe, and out into the soft evening drifted her rich contralto in the yearning strains of the "Blumenlied." "I long to lay in blessing My hands upon thy hair, Praying that God may preserve thee So pure, so bright, so fair!" I bent over and touched my lips to Amy's forehead reverently. "God keep you, my snow-flower!" I whispered.
Begin all right: then hear chords a bit off: feel lost a bit. In and out of sacks, over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Time makes the tune. Question of mood you're in. Still always nice to hear. Except scales up and down, girls learning. Two together nextdoor neighbours. Ought to invent dummy pianos for that. Blumenlied I bought for her. The name.
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