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32 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche · Logic Library

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  Part two, Chapter thirty two, The Dance Song. One evening went Zarathustra
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  and his disciples through the forest, and when he sought for a well low
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  he lighted upon a green meadow, peacefully surrounded with trees and bushes, where
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  maidens were dancing together. As soon as the maidens recognized Zarathustra, they cease
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  dancing. Zarathustra, however, reproached them with friendly mien, and spake these
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  words, cease not your dancing, ye lovely maidens. No game spoiler.
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  Hath come to you with evil eye? No enemy of maidens? God's advocate?
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  Am I with the devil? He? However, is the spirit of
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  gravity? How could I, ye lightfooted ones, be hostile to divine dances
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  or to maiden's feet with fine ankles? To be sure, I am a
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  forest and a night of dark trees. But he was not afraid of my
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  darkness. Will find banks full of roses under my sigh presses, and even
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  the little god may he find who is dearest to maidens. Beside the well
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  lieth he quietly with closed eyes, verily in broad daylight did he fall asleep?
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  The sluggard had he perhaps chased butterflies too, much upbraid me, not
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  ye beautiful dancers. When I chase in the little god somewhat, he will
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  cry, certainly and weep, But he is laughable even when weeping, And
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  with tears in his eyes. Shall he ask you for a dance, And
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  I myself will sing a song to his dance, a dance song and satire
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  on the spirit of gravity, my supremest, powerfulest devil, who is said
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  to be lord of the world. And this is the song that Zarathustra sang
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  when Cupid and the maidens danced together. Of late, did I gaze into
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  thine eye O life, and into the unfathomable? Did I their seemed to
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  sink, But thou pull'dest me out with golden angle derisively? Didst thou laugh
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  when I called the unfathomable? Such is the language of all fish, sayest
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  thou what they do not fathom is unfathomable, but changeable. Am I only
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  and wild and altogether a woman, and no virtuous one, thoughhy be called
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  by you men the profound one, or the faithful one, the eternal one,
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  the mysterious one. But ye men and tao us, always with your
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  own virtue, alas ye virtuous ones. Thus did she laugh, the unbelievable
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  one. But never do I believe her and her laughter when she speaketh evil
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  of herself. And when I talked face to face with my wild wisdom,
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  she said to me angrily, thou willest thou cravest thou lovest on that account
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  alone dost thou praise life? Then had I almost answered indignantly and told the
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  truth to the angry one. And one cannot answer more indignantly than when one
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  telleth the truth to one's wisdom. For thus do things stand with us?
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  Three In my heart do I love only life, and verily most when I
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  hate her. But that I am fond of wisdom, and often too fond,
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  is because she remindeth me very strongly of life. She hath her eye,
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  her laugh, and even her golden angle. Rod Am I responsible for
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  it? That both are so alike? And when once life asked me who
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  is she? Then this wisdom? Then I said eagerly, ah, yes,
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  wisdom. One thirsteth for her and is not satisfied. One looketh through
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  veils, one graspeth through nets. Is she beautiful? What do I know?
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  But the oldest scarps are still lured by her change? Is she and
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  wayward? Often have I seen her bite her lip and pass the comb against
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  the grain of her hair. Perhaps she is wicked and false, and altogether
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  a woman. But when she speaketh ill of herself, just then doth she
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  seduced most? When I had said this unto life? Then laughed she maliciously,
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  and shut her eyes. Of whom dost thou speak? Said she?
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  Perhaps of me? And if thou wert right, is it proper to say
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  that in such wise to my face? But now pray speak also of thy
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  wisdom? Ah? And now hast thou again open thine eyes, O,
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  beloved life, and into the unfathomable? Have I again seemed to sink?
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  Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was over and the maidens had departed,
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  he became sad. The sun hath been long, said said he.
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  At last the meadow is damp, and from the forest with coolness. An
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  unknown presence is about me. And gazeth thoughtfully, what thou livest still,
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  Zarathustra? Why wherefore, whereby whither where? How is it not falling still
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  to live? Ah? My friends? The evening is it which thus interrogateth
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  in me? Forgive me my sadness, evening hath come on. Forgive me
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  that evening hath come on. Thus sang Zarathustra, end of chapter thirty two,