Latest / The Philosophy Insights Collection / 59 - Thus Spake Zarathustra - Friedrich Nietzsche
Transcript
- Part three, Chapter fifty nine. The second Dance song One into thine eyes gaz'd I lately o life gold saw I gleam in thy night eyes. My heart stood still with delight. A gold bark sare I gleam on darken'd waters, A sinking, drinking, reblinking golden swing bark at my dance frantic foot, dost thou cast a glance, a laughing, questioning, melting thrown glance. Twice only movest thou rattl'd with thy little hand. Then did my feet swing with dance fury. My heels rear'd aloft my toes. They hearken'd thee. They would know, hath not the dancer his ear in his toe into thee? Did I spring? Thou fledst thou back from my bound and towards me, waving thy fleeing flying tresses around away from thee? Did I spring and from thy snaky tresses? Then stoodt thou there, half turned, and in thine eye caresses with crooked glances, Dost thou teach me crooked courses, on crooked courses, learn my feet crafty fancies. I fear thee near, I love thee far thy flight allureth me thy seeking secureth me I suffer but for THEE? What would I not gladly bear for THEE? Whose coldness inflameth, Whose hatred misleadeth, whose flight enshameeth, whose mockery pleadeth. Who would not hate thee? Thou great bind dress in wind dress, temptress, seekress, fine dress? Who would not love thee? Thou innocent, impatient, wind, swift, child eyed sinner? Whither pullest thou me now thou paragon and tomboy, And now foolest thou my fleeing Thou sweet romp dost annoy? I dance after THEE? I follow even faint traces, lonely. Where art thou give me thy hand or thy finger? Only here are caves and thickets. We shall go astray, halt, stand still, seest thou not owls and bats in the fluttering fray? Thou bat thou owl? Wouldst thou play me foul? Where are we from the dogs? Hast thou learned thus to bark and howl? Thou nashest on me sweetly with little white teeth. Thine evil eye shooteth out upon me, thy curly little mane. From underneath this is thy dance over stock and stone? I am the hunter. Wilt thou be my hound or my chamiennon? Now beside me? And quickly wickedly springing now up and over alas haveth fallen over myself over swinging. Oh see me lying thou arrogant one, and imploring grace gladly? Would I walk with thee in some lovelier place, in the paths of love, through bushes variegated quiet trim, or there along the lake where gold fishes dance and swim? Art thou now weary? There above are sheep and sunset strips? Is it not sweet to sleep? The shepherd pipes? Thou art so very weary? I carry thee thither. Let just thine arms sink, and art thou thirsty? I should have something, but thy mouth would not like it to drink. Oh that cursed nimble supple serpent and lurking witch. Where art thou gone? But in my face do I feel through thy hand two spots and red blotches of itch? I am verily weary of it. Ever, thy sheepish shepherd, to be thou witch? If I have hitherto sung unto thee, now shalt thou cry unto me to the rhythm of my whip, shalt thou dance and cry I forget not my whip, not I two. Then did life answer me thus, and thereby kept her fine ears closed, O, Zarathustra, crack not so terribly with thy whip. Thou knowest surely that noise killeth thought, and just now there came to me such delicate thoughts. We are both of us genuine, ne'er do wells and ne'er do ills, beyond good and evil found. We are our island and our green meadow. We two alone. Therefore, must we be friendly to each other? And even should we not love each other from the bottom of our hearts, must we then have a grudge against each other if we do not love each other perfectly? And that I am friendly to thee and often too friendly, that knowest thou, and the reason that I am envious of thy wisdom, Ah, this mad old fool wisdom. If thy wisdom should one day run away from thee, Ah, then also would my love run away from thee quickly? Whereupon did life look thoughtfully behind and around, and said, softly, Oh, Zarathustra, thou art not faithful enough to me. Thou lovest me, not nearly so much as thou sayest I know, thou thinkest of soon leaving me. There is an old, heavy, heavy booming clock. It boometh by night up to thy cave. When thou hearest this clock strike the hours at midnight. Then thinkest thou between one and twelve thereon? Thou thinkest thereon, Oh, Zarathustra, I know it of soon leaving me, yea, answered I hesitatingly. But thou knowest it also, And I said something into her ear in amongst her confused, yellow, foolish tresses. Thou knowest that, O, Zarathustra, that knoweth no one. And we gazed at each other, and looked at the green meadow o'er which the cool evening was just passing, and we wept together. Then, however, was life dearer unto me than all my wisdom had ever been. Thus spake Zarathustra. Three, one, O man, take heed? Two what saith deep midnight's voice? Indeed, three I slept my sleep. Four from the deepest dream I woke and plead five. The world is deep, six and deeper than the day could read. Seven deep is its woe. Eight, Joy deeper still than grief can be. Nine, woe saith hence go. Ten But all joys want eternity eleven want deep, profound eternity. Twelve. End of Part three, Chapter fifty nine