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Now, as she threw off her walking things, she fell first upon her violin, and rushed through a Brahms' 'Liebeslied, her eyes dancing, her whole light form thrilling with the joy of it; and then with a sudden revulsion she stopped playing, and threw herself down listlessly by the open window.
Now, as she threw off her walking things, she fell first upon her violin, and rushed through a Brahms's 'Liebeslied, her eyes dancing, her whole light form thrilling with the joy of it; and then with a sudden revulsion she stopped playing, and threw herself down listlessly by the open window.
It is to me finer than Henselt's perfect "Liebeslied," possibly because the ravishing sweetness of the woman's voice answering the sombre plea of the man gives it a double claim on the heart. The setting of "Du bist wie eine Blume," however, hardly does justice either to Heine's poem, or to Nevin's art.
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