No More Learning

And from the heart, too.

_Mephistopheles_. Well and fair!
Then there'll be talk of truth unending,
Of love o'ermastering, all transcending--
Will every word be heart-born there?

_Faust_. Enough! It will! --If, for the passion
That fills and thrills my being's frame,
I find no name, no fit expression,
Then, through the world, with all my senses, ranging,
Seek what most strongly speaks the unchanging.
And call this glow, within me burning,
Infinite--endless--endless yearning,
Is that a devilish lying game?

_Mephistopheles_. I'm right, nathless!

_Faust_. Now, hark to me--
This once, I pray, and spare my lungs, old fellow--
Whoever _will_ be right, and has a tongue to bellow,
Is sure to be.
But come, enough of swaggering, let's be quit,
For thou art right, because I must submit.




GARDEN.
MARGARET _on_ FAUST'S _arm_. MARTHA _with_ MEPHISTOPHELES.
[_Promenading up and down_. ]

_Margaret_. The gentleman but makes me more confused
With all his condescending goodness.
Men who have travelled wide are used
To bear with much from dread of rudeness;
I know too well, a man of so much mind
In my poor talk can little pleasure find.

_Faust_. One look from thee, one word, delights me more
Than this world's wisdom o'er and o'er.
[_Kisses her hand_. ]

_Margaret_. Don't take that trouble, sir! How could you bear to kiss it?
A hand so ugly, coarse, and rough!
How much I've had to do! must I confess it--
Mother is more than close enough.
[_They pass on_.