It is the privilege of the rich To waste the time of the poor To water with tears in secret A tree that grows in secret That bears fruit in secret That ripened falls to the ground in secret And manures the parent tree Oh the wicked tree of hatred and the secret The sap rising and the tears falling.

one never knows really how things are with other people, they just do always seem more spirited than oneself somehow.

Love is not love that wounded bleeds And bleeding sullies slow. Come death within my hands and I Unto my love will go.

This Englishwoman is so refined, She has no bosom and no behind.

Colours are what drive me most strongly.

Into the dark night Resignedly I go, I am not so afraid of the dark night As the friends I do not know, I do not fear the night above As I fear the friends below.

It is the privilege of the rich To waste the time of the poor To water with tears in secret A tree that grows in secret That bears fruit in secret That ripened falls to the ground in secret And manures the parent tree Oh the wicked tree of hatred and the secret The sap rising and the tears falling.