Wild Roses Are Fairest, And Nature A

Well, If I Can't Be Happy, I Can Be Useful, Perhaps.

All Is Fish That Comes To The Literary Net. Goethe Puts His Joys And Sorrows Into Poems, I Turn My Adventures Into Bread And Butter.

Dear Me! How Happy And Good We'd Be, If We Had No Worries!

The Dirt Is Picturesque, So I Don't Mind.

... Because I Have Fallen In Love With So Many Pretty Girls And Never Once The Least Bit With Any Man.