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And from my heart.
All good and fair!
Then deathless constancy thou’lt swear; Speak of one all o’ermastering pa.s.sion– Will that too issue from the heart?
When pa.s.sion sways me, and I seek to frame Fit utterance for feeling, deep, intense, And for my frenzy finding no fit name, Sweep round the ample world with every sense, Grasp at the loftiest words to speak my flame, And call the glow, wherewith I burn, Quenchless, eternal, yea, eterne– Is that of sophistry a devilish play?
Yet am I right!
Mark this, my friend, And spare my lungs; who would the right maintain, And hath a tongue wherewith his point to gain, Will gain it in the end.
But come, of gossip I am weary quite; Because I’ve no resource, thou’rt in the right.
MARGARET _on_ FAUST’s _arm_. MARTHA _with_ MEPHISTOPHELES _walking up and down_.
I feel it, you but spare my ignorance, The gentleman to blame me stoops thus low.
[Ill.u.s.tration: FAUST AND MARGARET _From the Painting by Carl Becker_]
A traveler from complaisance Still makes the best of things; I know Too well, my humble prattle never can Have power to entertain so wise a man.
One glance, one word from thee doth charm me more Than the world’s wisdom or the sage’s lore.
[_He kisses her hand._]
Nay! trouble not yourself! A hand so coa.r.s.e, So rude as mine, how can you kiss!
What constant work at home must I not do perforce!
My mother too exacting is.
[_They pa.s.s on._]
Thus, sir, unceasing travel is your lot?
Traffic and duty urge us! With what pain Are we compelled to leave full many a spot, Where yet we dare not once remain!
In youth’s wild years, with vigor crown’d, ‘Tis not amiss thus through the world to sweep; But ah, the evil days come round!
And to a lonely grave as bachelor to creep A pleasant thing has no one found.
The prospect fills me with dismay.
Therefore in time, dear sir, reflect, I pray.
[_They pa.s.s on._]
Ay, out of sight is out of mind!
Politeness easy is to you; Friends everywhere, and not a few, Wiser than I am, you will find.
O dearest, trust me, what doth pa.s.s for sense Full oft is self-conceit and blindness!
Simplicity and holy innocence– When will ye learn your hallow’d worth to know!
Ah, when will meekness and humility, Kind and all-bounteous nature’s loftiest dower–
Only one little moment think of me!
To think of you I shall have many an hour.
You are perhaps much alone?
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