FAUST
Nay! do not tremble, love!
Let this hand-pressure, let this glance reveal
Feelings, all power of speech above;
To give oneself up wholly and to feel
A joy that must eternal prove!
Eternal!—Yes, its end would be despair,
No end!—It cannot end!
[MARGARET presses his hand, extricates herself, and runs away. He stands a moment in thought, and then follows her.]
MARTHA (approaching)
Night's closing.