English poem
Mephistopheles
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749–1832)
What wouldest thou! She thinks you've taken flight; It seems, she's partly in the right.
FAUST I'm near her still--and should I distant rove, Her I can ne'er forget, ne'er lose her love; And all things touch'd by those sweet lips of hers, Even the very Host, my envy stirs.