The Sea Appears All Golden. Beneath The

Lyrical Poetry Is Much The Same An Every Age, As The Songs Of The Nightingales In Every Spring-time.

Good Luck Is A Giddy Maid, Fickle And Restless As A Fawn; She Smooths Your Hair; And Then The Jade Kisses You Quickly, And Is Gone.

Out Of My Own Great Woe I Make My Little Songs.

God Has Given Us Speech In Order That We May Say Pleasant Things To Our Friends, And Tell Bitter Truths To Our Enemies.

While We Are Indifferent To Our Good Qualities, We Keep On Deceiving Ourselves In Regard To Our Faults, Until We Come To Look On Them As Virtues.