And my child at my right breast.—
These, and none else with us shall rest!
Me on thy loving side to press,
That was a heaven of blessedness!
But now, I cannot do it more;
I feel as I must force my love to thee,
And thou didst coldly fling me back from thee;
And yet ’tis thou!—as good, as loving as before.
Faust.
’Tis I, even I, come, sweet love, come!