O longing of youth that misunderstood itself!
No, leave! Do not be angry! You—cannot live here:
That look at me and say: "were we once friends?" —
Those I deemed changed into my kin,
The feast of feasts:
Now the world laughs, the dread curtain is rent,
Is afraid to grasp,—like parchment that is discolored, burnt.
That they have aged has driven them away:
Those I longed for,
Am I another? A stranger to myself?
And what I am, to you friends—I am not?
New friends! Come! It's time! It's time!
Here one has to be a hunter and chamois-like.
Sprung from myself?
The friend of noon—no! do not ask who he is—
That knock at my heart and window nightly,
You turn away?— O heart, you have borne enough,
I learned to live
No longer friends, they are—what should I call them?—
My bow is bent!
But now alas! No arrow is dangerous
And my honey—who has tasted it? .....
I sought where the most biting wind blows?
Now we celebrate together, certain of victory,
At noon was the time one became two ...
Only he who changes remains akin to me.
The wedding has come for light and darkness .....
Love once inscribed on it, the faded ones?
Wounded and stopped by his own victory?
— There you are, friends!— Alas, but I am not
A wrestler, who too often subdued himself?
I await friends, ready day and night,
A sorceror did it, the friend at the right time,
Died in my mouth—
My realm—what realm stretches further?
I await friends, ready day and night
Your hope stayed strong:
Friend Zarathustra has come, the guest of guests!
I compare it to parchment that the hand
Restless happiness in standing, watching and waiting: —
O noon of life! O time to celebrate!
Once you were young, now—you are younger!
I've become a wicked hunter!— Look how much
You hesitate, amazed—oh, you are quite sullen!
Unlearned man and god, curse and prayer?
Restless happiness in standing, watching and waiting!
Too often resisted his own strength,
Nothing but ghosts of friends!
Full of love and fear!
Here among this most remote realm of ice and rock—
I—am no longer the same? Hands, face, gait have changed?
Where are you friends? Come! It's time! It's time!
O summer garden!
What once tied us together, one hope's bond —
The strongest was he who drew his bow like this— —:
Let the old go! Let the memories go!
Who still reads the signs
Where no one lives, in desolate polar zones,
The one you wanted?
In the heights my table was set for you: —
— O withered word, once fragrant as the rose!
O summer garden!
As that arrow,—away from here! For your own good! .....
To the grey yonder of the abyss?
This song is over—the sweet cry of longing
Become a ghost who crosses glaciers?
You hesitate, amazed—oh, you are quite sullen!
I—am no longer the same? Hands, face, gait have changed?
Let the old go! Let the memories go!
The feast of feasts:
No longer friends, they are—what should I call them?—
No, leave! Do not be angry! You—cannot live here:
But now alas! No arrow is dangerous
— There you are, friends!— Alas, but I am not
Become a ghost who crosses glaciers?
Where are you friends? Come! It's time! It's time!
Your hope stayed strong:
A wrestler, who too often subdued himself?
The strongest was he who drew his bow like this— —:
Love once inscribed on it, the faded ones?
O summer garden!
Died in my mouth—
New friends! Come! It's time! It's time!
I learned to live
Restless happiness in standing, watching and waiting: —
In the heights my table was set for you: —
A sorceror did it, the friend at the right time,
Now the world laughs, the dread curtain is rent,
Where no one lives, in desolate polar zones,
And what I am, to you friends—I am not?
Once you were young, now—you are younger!
Those I deemed changed into my kin,
Nothing but ghosts of friends!
O noon of life! O time to celebrate!
Is afraid to grasp,—like parchment that is discolored, burnt.
Only he who changes remains akin to me.
You turn away?— O heart, you have borne enough,
Am I another? A stranger to myself?
To the grey yonder of the abyss?
That look at me and say: "were we once friends?" —
This song is over—the sweet cry of longing
I sought where the most biting wind blows?
Restless happiness in standing, watching and waiting!
And my honey—who has tasted it? .....
Here one has to be a hunter and chamois-like.
The friend of noon—no! do not ask who he is—
Friend Zarathustra has come, the guest of guests!
Those I longed for,
Now we celebrate together, certain of victory,
The wedding has come for light and darkness .....
At noon was the time one became two ...
I await friends, ready day and night
As that arrow,—away from here! For your own good! .....
O longing of youth that misunderstood itself!
My realm—what realm stretches further?
What once tied us together, one hope's bond —
The one you wanted?
My bow is bent!
I've become a wicked hunter!— Look how much
— O withered word, once fragrant as the rose!
Wounded and stopped by his own victory?
O summer garden!
Too often resisted his own strength,
Who still reads the signs
I await friends, ready day and night,
Sprung from myself?
That they have aged has driven them away:
I compare it to parchment that the hand
Here among this most remote realm of ice and rock—
That knock at my heart and window nightly,
Unlearned man and god, curse and prayer?
Full of love and fear!