Front Page Titles (by Subject) SCENE I.—: A Chamber. - Goethe's Works, vol. 3 (Goetz von Berlichingen, Iphigenia in Tauris, Tarquato Tasso, etc)
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SCENE I.—: A Chamber. - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Goethe’s Works, vol. 3 (Goetz von Berlichingen, Iphigenia in Tauris, Tarquato Tasso, etc) 
Goethe’s Works, illustrated by the best German artists, 5 vols. (Philadelphia: G. Barrie, 1885). Vol. 3.
Part of: Goethe’s Works, 5 vols.
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(Alone.) Art thou awaken’d from a dream, and is
The fair delusion suddenly dissolv’d?
Thee, in fruition of the highest joy,
Hath sleep o’ermaster’d, and now holds thy soul
Tortur’d and bound with heavy fetters? Ay,
Thou art awake, and dreamest? Where the hours
That round thy head with flowery garlands play’d?
The days, when unrestrain’d thy yearning soul
Freely explor’d the heaven’s o’erarching blue?
Thou’rt living still, art sensible to touch,
Feelest, yet know’st not if thou livest still.
Say, for mine own, or for another’s fault,
Am I, as criminal, thus captive here?
Have I been guilty that I suffer thus?
Is not my fancied crime a merit rather?
With kindly feeling I encounter’d him,
Persuaded, by the heart’s delusive hope,
He must be man who bears a mortal form:
With open arms I sped to his embrace,
And felt no human breast, but bolts and bars.
Oh, had I but with prudent forecast weigh’d.
How I most fitly could receive the man.
Who from the first inspir’d me with mistrust!
Let me, however, whatsoe’er betide,
Forever to this one assurance cling:—
’Twas she herself! She stood before my view!
She spoke to me! I hearken’d to her voice!
Her look, her tone, her words’ sweet import, these,
These are forever mine; nor time nor fate,
Nor ruthless chance can plunder me of these!
And if my spirit hath too swiftly soar’d,
If all too promptiv in my breast I gave
Vent to the flame, which now consumes my heart,
So let it be,—I never can repeat,
E’en though my fortune were forever wreck’d
To her devoted, I obey’d with joy
The hand that beckon’d me to ruin’s brink.
So let it be! Thus have I prov’d myself
Deserving of the precious confidence
That cheers my soul,—ay, cheers it in this hour,
When cruel fate unlocks the sable gates
Of long-protracted woe.—Yes, now ’tis done!
For me the sun of gracious favor sets,
Never to rise again; his glance benign
The prince withdraws, and leaves me standing here,
Abandon’d on this narrow, gloomy path.
The bateful and ill-boding feather’d throng,
Obscene attendants upon ancient night,
Swarm forth and whirl round my devoted head.
Whither, oh, whither, shall I bend my steps,
To shun the loathsome brood that round me flit,
And ’scape the dread abyss that yawns before?