Faust

So long as in my legs I feel the fresh existence. This knotted staff suffices me. What need to shorten so the way? Along this labyrinth of vales to wander, Then climb the rocky ramparts yonder, Wherefrom the fountain flings eternal spray, Is such delight, my steps would fain delay. The spring-time stirs within the fragrant birches, And even the fir-tree feels it now: Should then our limbs escape its gentle searches?