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At the zwinger (a space between the city wall and the gate), Margaret
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Oh bow down,
Sorrowful one,
Your kind face, to my affliction!
A sword in your heart,
Where a thousand pains start,
You look up, at your dead Son.
You look up to the Father,
You send Him your sighs, there,
For His, and for your, affliction.
Who then can feel,
How like steel,
Is the pain inside my bones?
What my poor heart fears for,
What it quakes for, and longs for
You know, and you alone!
Wherever I go now,
How sore, sore, sore now
How sore my heart must be!
Ah, when I’m alone here,
I moan, moan, moan here:
My heart it breaks in me.
The pots before my window!
My tears bedewed them so,
In the early dawn, when
I picked the flowers below.
The sun it shone so brightly,
And early, in my room,
Where I sat already,
On my bed, in deepest gloom.
Help me! Oh, save me, from shame and destruction!
Oh, bow down,
Sorrowful one,
Your kind face, to my affliction!
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Faust, Part One. Trans. A. S. Kline. https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/German/FaustIScenesXVItoXXV.php#Scene_XVIII
A full-text translation of Faust, with notes: https://www.poetryintranslation.com/PITBR/German/Fausthome.php
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