The Sea Appears All Golden. Beneath The

At Noon I Feel As Though I Could Devour All The Elephants Of Hindostan, And Then Pick My Teeth With The Spire Of Strasburg Cathedral; In The Evening I Become So Sentimental That I Would Fain Drink Up The Milky Way Without Reflecting How Indigestible I Should Find The Little Fixed Stars, And By Night There Is The Devil Himself Broke Loose In My Head And No Mistake.

On The Waves Of The Brook She Dances By, The Light, The Lovely Dragon-fly; She Dances Here, She Dances There, The Shimmering, Glimmering Flutterer Fair. And Many A Foolish Young Beetle's Impressed By The Blue Gauze Gown In Which She Is Dressed; They Admire The Enamel That Decks Her Bright, And Her Elegant Waist So Slim And Slight.

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.

In Vain Would I Seek To Discover Why Sad And Mournful Am I, My Thoughts Without Ceasing Brood Over A Tale Of The Time Gone By.

When The Heroes Go Off The Stage, The Clowns Come On.