The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries - LightNovelsOnl.com
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My bosom aches To feel him near; Ah, could I clasp And fold him here!
Kiss him and kiss him Again would I, And on his kisses I fain would die.
MARTHA'S GARDEN
MARGARET _and_ FAUST
MARGARET
Promise me, Henry!
FAUST
What I can!
MARGARET
How thy religion fares, I fain would hear.
Thou art a good kind-hearted man, Only that way not well-disposed, I fear.
FAUST
Forbear, my child! Thou feelest thee I love; My heart, my blood I'd give, my love to prove, And none would of their faith or church bereave.
MARGARET
That's not enough, we must ourselves believe!
FAUST
Must we?
MARGARET
Ah, could I but thy soul inspire!
Thou honorest not the sacraments, alas!
FAUST
I honor them.
MARGARET
But yet without desire; 'Tis long since thou hast been either to shrift or ma.s.s.
Dost thou believe in G.o.d?
FAUST
My darling, who dares say?
Yes, I in G.o.d believe.
Question or priest or sage, and they Seem, in the answer you receive, To mock the questioner.
MARGARET
Then thou dost not believe?
FAUST
Sweet one! my meaning do not misconceive!
Him who dare name, And who proclaim-- Him I believe?
Who that can feel, His heart can steel, To say: I believe him not?
The All-embracer, All-sustainer, Holds and sustains he not Thee, me, himself?
Lifts not the Heaven its dome above?
Doth not the firm-set earth beneath us lie?
And, beaming tenderly with looks of love, Climb not the everlasting stars on high?
Do we not gaze into each other's eyes?
Nature's impenetrable agencies, Are they not thronging on thy heart and brain, Viewless, or visible to mortal ken, Around thee weaving their mysterious chain?
Fill thence thy heart, how large soe'er it be; And in the feeling when thou utterly art blest, Then call it, what thou wilt-- Call it Bliss! Heart! Love! G.o.d!
I have no name for it!
'Tis feeling all; Name is but sound and smoke Shrouding the glow of heaven.
MARGARET
All this is doubtless good and fair; Almost the same the parson says, Only in slightly different phrase.
FAUST
Beneath Heaven's suns.h.i.+ne, everywhere, This is the utterance of the human heart; Each in his language doth the like impart; Then why not I in mine?
MARGARET
What thus I hear Sounds plausible, yet I'm not reconciled; There's something wrong about it; much I fear That thou art not a Christian.
FAUST
My sweet child!
MARGARET
Alas! it long hath sorely troubled me, To see thee in such odious company.
FAUST
How so?
MARGARET
