Invisible, visible, round thy life? 
Vast as it is, fill with that force thy heart,
And when thou in the feeling wholly blessed art,
Call it, then, what thou wilt,—­
Call it Bliss!  Heart!  Love!  God! 
I have no name to give it! 
Feeling is all in all: 
The Name is sound and smoke,
Obscuring Heaven’s clear glow.

MARGARET

All that is fine and good, to hear it so: 
Much the same way the preacher spoke,
Only with slightly different phrases.

FAUST

The same thing, in all places,
All hearts that beat beneath the heavenly day—­
Each in its language—­say;
Then why not I, in mine, as well?

MARGARET

To hear it thus, it may seem passable;
And yet, some hitch in’t there must be
For thou hast no Christianity.

FAUST

Dear love!

MARGARET

I’ve long been grieved to see
That thou art in such company.

FAUST

How so?

MARGARET

The man who with thee goes, thy mate,
Within my deepest, inmost soul I hate. 
In all my life there’s nothing
Has given my heart so keen a pang of loathing,
As his repulsive face has done.

FAUST

Nay, fear him not, my sweetest one!

MARGARET

I feel his presence like something ill. 
I’ve else, for all, a kindly will,
But, much as my heart to see thee yearneth,
The secret horror of him returneth;
And I think the man a knave, as I live! 
If I do him wrong, may God forgive!

FAUST

There must be such queer birds, however.

MARGARET

Live with the like of him, may I never! 
When once inside the door comes he,
He looks around so sneeringly,
And half in wrath: 
One sees that in nothing no interest he hath: 
’Tis written on his very forehead
That love, to him, is a thing abhorred. 
I am so happy on thine arm,
So free, so yielding, and so warm,
And in his presence stifled seems my heart.

FAUST

Foreboding angel that thou art!

MARGARET

It overcomes me in such degree,
That wheresoe’er he meets us, even,
I feel as though I’d lost my love for thee. 
When he is by, I could not pray to Heaven. 
That burns within me like a flame,
And surely, Henry, ’tis with thee the same.