Faust monologue — Faust — Part 1

Loosed from their fetters are streams and rills Through the gracious spring-tide's all-quickening glow; Hope's budding joy in the vale doth blow; Old Winter back to the savage hills Withdraweth his force, decrepid now. Thence only impotent icy grains Scatters he as he wings his flight, Striping with sleet the verdant plains; But the sun endureth no trace of white; Everywhere growth and movement are rife, All things investing with hues of life: Though flowers are lacking, varied of dye, Their colours the motly throng supply. Turn thee around, and from this height, Back to the town direct thy sight. Forth from the hollow, gloomy gate, Stream forth the masses, in bright array. Gladly seek they the sun to-day; The Lord's Resurrection they celebrate: For they themselves have risen, with joy,