Tuesday, May 26, 2015

Briar Rose; May 26, 2015

If only I weren’t a writer, perhaps I could thank you and praise you and admire you simply and expressively and say in one word what I felt about the concert yesterday.  As it is, an image forms in my mind; a quickset briar hedge, innumerably spikey and thorned; in the centre burns a rose.  Miraculously the rose is you; flushed pink, wearing pearls.  The thorn hedge is the music; and I have to break my way through violins, flutes, cymbals, voices to this red burning centre.   

Letter to Ethel Smyth  
May 26, 1930 (L4, 171)

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