’Tis Thou, to whom the stir of all my forces,
The essence of my passion’s courses,—
Love, fancy, worship, madness,—here I render.[212]
In the throes of this passion, Faust is tortured by jealousy when he sees the lovely woman clinging to and kissing a young man. He desires her at all costs.
Am I nothing here? To stead me,
Is not this key still shining in my hand?
Through realms of terror, wastes and waves it led me,
Through solitudes, to where I firmly stand,
Here foothold is! Realities here centre!
The strife with spirits here the mind may venture,