I'm sending this out two days early this week because I'm going to be busy the next two days helping my daughter-in-law get food into the freezer for the upcoming birth of their new baby, so I won't have internet access for a couple of days, but I didn't want to miss a week....  I've also had trouble being able to answer comments because our computer protections are too strong and I need my husband to temporarily disable them so I can answer comments.  I do read and appreciate any comments!!  I love hearing from you!  
This painting of a mother and her sleeping daughter by Albert Anker warms my heart! 
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| Young Mother Contemplating Her Sleeping Child by Candlelight | 
Our piece this week is Waverly Overture Op.1 by Hector Berlioz.  Hector Berlioz's music is a bit like our Minnesota weather - if you don't like it, wait a few minutes and it will change.  I'm still having mixed feelings about his music, but there are parts of each piece that I really like.  This piece is no exception.  I've also noticed that each piece seems to end with a dramatic fanfare.  
And our poem by Robert Browning is - Misconceptions
This is a spray the Bird clung to,
Making it blossom with pleasure,
Ere the high tree-top she sprung to,
Fit for her nest and her treasure.
Oh, what a hope beyond measure
Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to,—
So to be singled out, built in, and sung to!
This is a heart the Queen leant on,
Thrilled in a minute erratic,
Ere the true bosom she bent on,
Meet for love's regal dalmatic.
Oh, what a fancy ecstatic
Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on—
Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on!
Making it blossom with pleasure,
Ere the high tree-top she sprung to,
Fit for her nest and her treasure.
Oh, what a hope beyond measure
Was the poor spray's, which the flying feet hung to,—
So to be singled out, built in, and sung to!
This is a heart the Queen leant on,
Thrilled in a minute erratic,
Ere the true bosom she bent on,
Meet for love's regal dalmatic.
Oh, what a fancy ecstatic
Was the poor heart's, ere the wanderer went on—
Love to be saved for it, proffered to, spent on!
 
 
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