Prelude in the Theatre

From Faust by Goethe (Translated by Walter Kauffman, page 79):

POET: (…) Nothing I had, and yet profusion: The lust for truth, the pleasure in illusion. Give back the passions unabated, That deepest joy, alive with pain, Love’s power and the strength of hatred, Give back my youth to me again.

CLOWN: You may need youth, my friend, in battles or in raids, When cannons’ roar and soldiers press you, Or when adorable young maids Put their arms round you and caress you; Or when the wreath of honor glances Far from the goal of a long run; Or when after impassioned dances, One drinks and toasts the rising sun. To raise the poet’s well-known voice With grace in mankind’s graceless choir, To seek the goal of one’s own choice With blessed erring—that, good sire, Is the sweet duty of the old, And we respect you when you play your part. Age does not make us childish, as we’re told, It merely finds we are still young at heart.