So livin vhite--so carnadine-- Mine lofe's gomblexion glow; It's shoost like abendcarmosine Rich gleamin on de shnow. Her soul makes plooshes in her sheek, As sommer reds de wein, Or sonlight sends a fire-life troo An blank karfunkelstein. De ueberschwengliche idees Dis lofe put in my mind, Vould make a foostrate philosoph Of any human kind. 'Tis shuderned sweet on eart' to meet An himmlisch-hoellisch qual, Und treat mit whiles to kuemmel schnapps De Shoenheitsideal. CONTENTMENT "_Man wants but little here below_" BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES Little I ask; my wants are few; I only wish a hut of stone, (A _very plain_ brownstone will do,) That I may call my own;-- And close at hand is such a one, In yonder street that fronts the sun. Plain food is quite enough for me; Three courses are as good as ten;-- If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen! I always thought cold victual nice;-- My _choice_ would be vanilla-ice. I care not much for gold or land;-- Give me a mortgage here and there,-- Some good bank-stock, some note of hand, Or trifling railroad share,-- I only ask that Fortune send A _little_ more than I shall spend. Honors are silly toys, I know, And titles are but empty names; I would, _perhaps_, be Plenipo,-- But only near St. James; I'm very sure I should not care To fill our Gubernator's chair. Jewels are bawbles; 'tis a sin To care for such unfruitful things;-- One good-sized diamond in a pin,-- Some, _not so large_, in rings,-- A ruby, and a pearl, or so, Will do for me;--I laugh at show. My dame should dress in cheap attire; (Good, heavy silks are never dear;)-- I own perhaps I _might_ desire Some shawls of true Cashmere,-- Some marrowy crapes of China silk, Like wrinkled skins on scalded milk. I would not have the horse I drive So fast that folks must stop and stare; An easy gait--two, forty-five-- Suits me; I do not care;-- Perhaps, for just a _single spurt_, Some seconds less would do no hurt. Of pictures, I should like to own Titians and Raphaels three or four,-- I love so much their style and tone,-- One Turner, and no more, (A landscape,--foreground golden dirt,-- The sunshine painted with a squirt.) Of books but few,--some fifty score For daily use, and bound for wear; The rest upon an upper floor;-- Some _little_ luxury _there_ Of red morocco's gilded gleam, And vellum rich as country cream. Busts, cameos, gems,--such things as these, Which others often show for pride, _I_ value for their power to please, And selfish churls deride;-- _One_ Stradivarius, I confess, _Two_ Meerschaums, I would fain possess.