Mephistopheles

And, to say truth, as yet with small success. Oppos'd to naught, this clumsy world, The something--it subsisteth still; Not yet is it to ruin hurl'd, Despite the efforts of my will. Tempests and earthquakes, fire and flood, I've tried; Yet land and ocean still unchang'd abide! And then of humankind and beasts, brood,-- Neither o'er them can I extend my sway. What countless myriads have I swept away! Yet ever circulates the fresh young blood. the accursed

It is enough to drive me to despair! As in the earth, in water, and in air, A thousand germs burst forth spontaneously; In moisture, drought, heat, cold, they still appear! Had I not flame selected as my sphere Nothing apart had been reserved for me.