And the magic flow
        Of his talk, the bliss
        In the clasp of his hand,
        And, ah! his kiss!

        My peace is gone,
        My heart is sore: 
        I never shall find it,
        Ah, nevermore!

        My bosom yearns
        For him alone;
        Ah, dared I clasp him,
        And hold, and own!

        And kiss his mouth,
        To heart’s desire,
        And on his kisses
        At last expire!

[Illustration]

XVI

MARTHA’S GARDEN

MARGARET FAUST

MARGARET

Promise me, Henry!—­

FAUST

What I can!

MARGARET

How is’t with thy religion, pray? 
Thou art a dear, good-hearted man,
And yet, I think, dost not incline that way.

FAUST

Leave that, my child!  Thou know’st my love is tender;
For love, my blood and life would I surrender,
And as for Faith and Church, I grant to each his own.

MARGARET

That’s not enough:  we must believe thereon.

FAUST

Must we?

MARGARET

Would that I had some influence! 
Then, too, thou honorest not the Holy Sacraments.

FAUST

I honor them.

MARGARET

Desiring no possession
’Tis long since thou hast been to mass or to confession. 
Believest thou in God?

FAUST

My darling, who shall dare
“I believe in God!” to say? 
Ask priest or sage the answer to declare,
And it will seem a mocking play,
A sarcasm on the asker.

MARGARET

Then thou believest not!

FAUST

Hear me not falsely, sweetest countenance! 
Who dare express Him? 
And who profess Him,
Saying:  I believe in Him! 
Who, feeling, seeing,
Deny His being,
Saying:  I believe Him not! 
The All-enfolding,
The All-upholding,
Folds and upholds he not
Thee, me, Himself? 
Arches not there the sky above us? 
Lies not beneath us, firm, the earth? 
And rise not, on us shining,
Friendly, the everlasting stars? 
Look I not, eye to eye, on thee,
And feel’st not, thronging
To head and heart, the force,
Still weaving its eternal secret,