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