Chapter 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?_”