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Wer bist du, und was fehlt dir! I read all day, right straight along, and all night, now that it is not too hot. I have always done my reading by periods I read our nineteenth-century poets that way, sixteen hours a day; I read Shakespeare in three weeks that way, and finished the month with Milton. So when I got German, I read Goethe and Schiller, and Moliere and Hugo again.
"Auction pinochle!" Abe interrupted, throwing up his hands. "Das fehlt nur noch!" "As I was saying, Mr. Potash," Prosnauer went on with a withering glance at Abe, "those samples are outside, and Pasinsky has asked me to ship them to Klinger & Klein, and " "Ship 'em!" Abe cried. "You shouldn't ship nothing. Them samples belongs to me." "How do I know that?" Prosnauer asked.
Ich bin ein deutscher Dichter, Bekannt im deutschen Land; Nennt man die besten Namen So wird auch der meine genannt. Und was mir fehlt, du Kleine, Fehlt manchem im deutschen Land; Nennt man die schlimmsten Schmerzen, So wird auch die meine genannt! I have never seen but one beautiful thing in New York, and that is its mighty river in the night-time.
Mit deinen schwarzbraunen Augen Siehst du mich forschend an: "Wer bist du, und was fehlt dir, Du fremder, kranker Mann!" Who does not love the poet Heine melodious, beautiful, bitter soul? Is there any other poet who can mingle, in one sentence, savage irony and tenderness that brings tears into the eyes? Who can tell the secret of his flower-like verses?
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