The Swan, Like The Soul Of The

Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins.

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

Thinking Of Germany In The Night Robs Me Of My Sleep.

Oh What Lies There Are In Kisses! And Their Guile So Well Prepared! Sweet The Snaring Is; But This Is Sweeter Still, To Be Ensnared.

I Bequeath All My Property To My Wife On The Condition That She Remarry Immediately. Then There Will Be At Least One Man To Regret My Death.