He Only Profits From Praise Who Values

What Lies Lurk In Kisses.

The People Have No Ear, Either For Rhythm Or Music, And Their Unnatural Passion For Pianoforte Playing And Singing Is Thus All The More Repulsive. There Is Nothing On Earth More Terrible Than English Music, Except English Painting.

The Eyes Of Spring, So Azure, Are Peeping From The Ground; They Are The Darling Violets, That I In Nosegays Bound.

Jews Who Long Have Drifted From The Faith Of Their Fathers... Are Stirred In Their Inmost Parts When The Old, Familiar Passover Sounds Chance To Fall Upon Their Ears.

And Over The Pond Are Sailing Two Swans All White As Snow; Sweet Voices Mysteriously Wailing Pierce Through Me As Onward They Go. They Sail Along, And A Ringing Sweet Melody Rises On High; And When The Swans Begin Singing, They Presently Must Die.