Mephistopheles

My friend, thou’lt win, past all pretences, More in this hour to soothe thy senses, Than in the year’s monotony. That which the dainty spirits sing thee, The lovely pictures they shall bring thee, Are more than magic’s empty show. Thy scent will be to bliss invited; Thy palate then with taste delighted, Thy nerves of touch ecstatic glow! All unprepared, the charm I spin: We’re here together, so begin!