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DR. FAUST'S DESCENT FROM HEAVEN, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Though your womb be the mother of bliss, o earth
Last Line: "when beautiful helen of troy shall be one with the blonde marguerite."


I

THOUGH your womb be the mother of bliss, 0 Earth, and the
mother of woes,
Though your large hands be full of the strange gifts of
life, the kiss, and the worm, and the rose,
The thunders that break from the sky of fate, and the flash
in the pan,
To me they are empty, for I know all things encompassed of man.
The devious desires that crouch through the brain like
monsters that nest in the sea,
Pass -- pageants of ghosts -- through the luminous eyes of
one who is dear to me.
The other -- all pangs and delights of the visible world
and its quests,
Are engraved in the exquisite curve of her throat and the
hieroglyphs of her breasts.
One rides on the winged chimaera of dreams through aeons
purple and red,
The other -- like new-mown grass is the scent of her flesh in my bed.
What can you give me of joy, Earth, what of bitter and sweet?
I have loved Helen of Troy and the blonde Marguerite.

II

Straightforth with the Magical Seal I knocked at the musical gates
Of Heaven. The angels grew pale, or swooned in the arms of
their mates.
"I have sounded all chords in the harp of man's life," I said,
"It is I, Doctor Faust. Now give me your manna for bread."
And they gave me their manna to eat, and drink, and I drank thereof,
But they tasted as ashes and stale in my mouth after the
kisses of love.
So I spake up to God: "In your realm, O Lord, there is nothing to do
For a man such as I. Let me pass. T'were different if I could be you!
To play with omnipotence, curb lightnings, and summon new
worlds at my will --
Yet I stretch out no impious hand for your kingdom. I, too,
have my fill.
Though the suns be your toy, of Love's breasts have I joy,
though the prayer of the saints be your
meat,
Have you loved Helen of Troy and the blonde Marguerite?

III

Into Inferno I stalked to the stream where sulphur and brimstone well
Through lonelinesses more deep than the Florentine's Frozen Hell.
I came to the nethermost place where Satan sate in splendor alone,
The writhing limbs of anguished men were the pillars of his throne.
His court was paved with dead men's hopes stamped like
designs into mud,
From thousand scarlet candles came the drip of human blood.
In his eyes were all the tortures of all nights barren and
fever-tossed
Of all who loved and won and all who loved and lost.
And I grasped the hand of the Prince of Hell: "O brother once divine,
Lo, all your thorns have pierced my side and all your hells were mine.
Thorns of flame that destroy, remorse, with slow but infallible feet:
I have loved Helen of Troy and the blonde Marguerite.

IV

From the lesser gods to their masters, Time and Eternity,
I turned -- to crave the single boon that they could give to me.
"I am the Pilgrim of Passion who ever must choose and grieve
Between the earth-born daughters of Lilith and of Eve.
For I have lost my way twixt Heaven and Hell and Earth,
Give me oblivion," I said, "or grant me another birth!
Grant me another encasement where the flesh shall be the soul,
Where good shall be as evil and pole as antipole.
Let Lilith and her sister, both back into night be thrust,
Fashion Woman anew out of their astral dust.
Dreams of impossible joy and impossible loveliness meet
When beautiful Helen of Troy shall be one with the blonde Marguerite."





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