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Arthur Symons - Faustus And Helen
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FAUSTUS 
Why am I fettered with eternal change? 
I follow after changeless love, and find 
Nothing but change; I seek, and seem to find; 
I find a shaken star within a pool; 
A little water troubles it; I lean 
Closer, and my own shadow blots it out. 
Yet I desire the star, not this bright ghost. 
I take a woman`s heart into my hand; 
It sighs for love, and trembles among sighs, 
And half awakens into a delicate sleep, 
And calls to me in whispers out of dreams. 
Then the dream passes, and I too know I have dreamed. 
No woman has found me faithless; it is she 
Who shows me my own image in her eyes, 
And in my own eyes finds a shadowy friend 
That is her own desire beholding her. 
Now I have followed wisdom long enough; 
Wisdom is changeless, but a barren thing; 
I desire love, and peace with love, and love 
Without this mortal penalty of change. 
Why is it that the world was made so ill, 
Or we that suffer it, or this soul its toy, 
This body that is the image of the world, 
Made ill, or made for a pastime? he that made it 
Loved not the thing he made, or tired of it, 
Or could not end it; for he gave us life, 
And the body, and therewith he gave us dreams; 
And having made one substance of the soul 
And body, wrought division, and flung his war 
Into the little passionate city of man. 
Yet, if this little city full of foes 
Could cast out dreams, these strong invading dreams, 
Might we not take kind peace into our midst? 
Peace without love there may not be; and yet 
I have read in books that love may come with rest. 
Love may desire and yet be satisfied, 
Love may brim up the body`s need of love 
And leave the soul unhurt; it is this soul 
That cries in us, and suffers, and kills content; 
The soul, a foolish vagabond thing, that strays 
Wanton about the world, sleeps ill of nights. 
Treads down the fruitful edges of the fields 
That ripen towards a harvest, and lives on alms. 
Could I but hold this slothful and restless soul 
The prisoner of to-day, build up to-day 
Into a rampart, shut to-morrow out, 
Then I might live, and not run after life, 
Then I might love, and not see only the pale 
Vanishing of love in an uncapturable mist. 
When Helen lived, men loved, and Helen was: 
Did Helen dream, or men, seeing Helen, dream 
Of more than Helen? O perfect beauty, made 
Of mortal flesh for some immortal end. 
To be the bride of every man`s desire 
While beauty is remembered, I do think 
That Helen grew up with the growth of flowers, 
And shared the simple, happy life of beasts, 
Loved to be loved, and saw men die for her, 
Not sorry, not astonished at their death, 
A grave and happy woman. Helen is dead 
These many thousand years; but what are years? 
Time is the slave of thought: a little thought 
Sets back the clock of the ages; this hour that strikes 
Is not so sure for me as Helen`s hour. 
I call on Helen: Helen is the thought 
I summon with; I form out of my soul 
A bodily Helen, whom these eyes behold. 

HELEN 
Have I slept long? You waken me from sleep. 
I have forgotten something: what is it? 

FAUSTUS 
There is much wisdom in your beauty; eyes, 
That have looked deep into the hearts of men. 
When men, setting their lips on them, forgot 
All but desire of some forgetfulness, 
Remember many secrets; your eyes are grave 
With knowledge of the hearts of many men. 

HELEN 
I have forgotten all; if I have looked 
Into the hearts of men, I have but seen 
A little eager world, like to my own, 
A world my own has copied; they desire 
That which I have to give them, I in them 
Their own desire.

FAUSTUS 
They see you not; they see 
Another phantom Helen in the soul, 
And they desire what you can never give.
 
HELEN 
What is the soul, and what is that desire 
Of man which Helen cannot satisfy? 

FAUSTUS 
O Helen, we are sick, sick of the soul. 
It is an ancient malady, and clings 
About our blood these many thousand years. 
We are born old, and this decrepit soul 
Is like a child`s inheritance, that pays 
The price of others` pleasure; we are born old, 
Old in the heart, and mournful in the brain, 
Hunters of shadows, feeders on food of sleep, 
Hoarding a little memory till it rots. 
We have forgotten day, the instant day, 
And that to-morrow never shall be ours.
 
HELEN 
To-morrow never need be ours; to-day 
Is greater than the heart of any man.

FAUSTUS 
Nay, not enough to dream a whole dream out. 

HELEN 
Have not great cities fallen in a day, 
And great kings fallen, and the face of the earth
Changed? Is not love, greater than any king, 
Born, brought to ripeness, earthed about with dust. 
In a day`s course? Needs death more than a day? 

FAUSTUS 
Not love, not death, not cities, not great kings. 
Only the little wayward heart of man. 

HELEN 
I fold my arms about you, and I lay 
My hair over your eyes; I hush your lips 
Against my heart: there are no sighs in it; 
It has forgotten Paris and the man 
Whom Paris wronged; how many thousand men 
Have died for this poor face they never saw! 
It has forgotten Troy. Shut your lids close 
And feel my lips, they bend down over you: 
Men have died hard in battle that these lips, 
My husband had kissed often, might be kissed 
By Paris: they are yours, they have not loved 
The mouth of any lover in the world 
More than they love your eyes; your eyes were sad, 
Before you shut them; open your eyes now: 
They have forgotten wisdom. 

FAUSTUS 
Is it a dream? 
I have not seen that face except in dreams. 

HELEN 
A little moment has gone over us, 
And it is still to-day.

FAUSTUS 
I have slept long. 

HELEN 
Do not awaken; yet you have not slept; 
Now you are falling back into your sleep; 
Your eyes remember, they are sad again, 
They have not wakened. 

FAUSTUS 
An immortal sleep, 
Gone in an instant! I have dreamed a dream 
Longer than all your years, and it is still 
The same long day, and there are hours enough 
To feed another dream out of our hearts. 

HELEN 
Why do you dream if dreaming makes you sad? 
Why do you look at me as if you looked 
Into a glass? 

FAUSTUS 
I do not know my face; 
I see a wintry bough toss in the wind 
When I look close into your eyes. I am sad 
Because your beauty is a consuming fire, 
And it could set the world in flames, yet not 
Burn out the dross of thought from this old heart. 
A stranger sits and sees you with my eyes; 
Your lips have kissed them, and they see you still. 

HELEN 
It is enough to look upon my face, 
If you will look upon my face indeed, 
And not at dreams that wither and turn to mist. 

FAUSTUS 
O Helen, it is you that are the dream. 
Have I not made you with my urgency, 
Made you to my desire out of a mist? 
I made you, and you mock me with your life. 
I called you as a ghost out of a grave, 
I gave you back the likeness of your flesh 
Out of my soul, but only not a soul, 
I gave you back the salt of life, your soul; 
And I entreated you across the dark 
And obscure ages, and you carne to me, 
Awakened, unastonished, out of death. 
Ghost of dead Helen, teach me to be no more 
The ghost of living Faustus! 

HELEN 
Must I die twice? 
For I remember dying long ago, 
And I abhor death only of earthly ills. 
Although it end all earthly ills at once. 
Must I die twice? 

FAUSTUS 
You must fade out again 
Into the mist, and be a memory.

HELEN 
My beauty has been dust so many -years 
I know not how the memory of It lasts 
Among men`s minds so long. A woman`s praise 
Is ended shortly with her youth, and dies 
Long before death: do men remember yet? 
Faustus, let me live! The one good thing 
Is life, for there is nothing in the grave: 
I have been dead, and there is nothing there; 
We sleep, and cannot even say, we sleep. 
I have loved life, I would live all my days 
Twice over; there is nothing I desire 
Except to live; death is the end of all: 
But now I live, and I would never die. 
And yet if death must come, I will die twice, 
So I may live my life over again.
 
FAUSTUS 
The colour of the world is washed away, 
Helen, and there is nothing in the world 
Worth looking on; your eyes have looked on Greece, 
Desire not life, there is no room for life, 
There is no place for beauty in the world. 
I did not call you hither for your peace, 
Not for your peace, although I sought for peace 
In finding you; and now I cannot find 
The peace I sought; this prison of the world, 
These massy walls, barred windows, iron bolts, 
Would close upon you and suck out your breath 
Like a slow sickness; but now rejoice, return 
To the universal nothingness of air: 
Depart, it is your freedom. 

HELEN 
I go out 
Into a great white darkness, and am afraid. 

FAUSTUS 
When Helen lived, men loved, and Helen was: 
I have seen Helen, Helen was a dream, 
I dreamed of something not in Helen`s eyes. 
What shall the end of all things be? I wait 
Cruel old age, and kinder death, and sleep.
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