I love the language, that soft bastard Latin,[215]

Which melts like kisses from a female mouth,

And sounds as if it should be writ on satin,[216]

With syllables which breathe of the sweet South,

And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in,

That not a single accent seems uncouth,

Like our harsh northern whistling, grunting guttural,

Which we're obliged to hiss, and spit, and sputter all.