The stream passed through the midst of the monastery and therenigh sat ten damsels like moons, high-bosomed maids, clad in dresses and ornaments that dazzled the eyes, as says of them the poet: […]
If you skip the prelude, which is at once rhythmically square and shapeless, this Lohengrin starts out decently enough, for Hans Helm is one of the okayest Heralds on disc (a modest compliment, to be sure).
Yet Brexit and Johnson’s ambitions are not the only plotlines in Birmingham.
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