The Joyful Wisdom. Фридрих Вильгельм НицшеЧитать онлайн книгу.

      My skin bursts, breaks for fresh rebirth,

      And new desires come thronging:

      Much I've devoured, yet for more earth

      The serpent in me's longing.

      'Twixt stone and grass I crawl once more,

      Hungry, by crooked ways,

      To eat the food I ate before,

      Earth-fare all serpents praise!

      My luck's good – I'd make yours fairer,

      (Good luck ever needs a sharer),

      Will you stop and pluck my roses?

      Oft mid rocks and thorns you'll linger,

      Hide and stoop, suck bleeding finger —

      Will you stop and pluck my roses?

      For my good luck's a trifle vicious,

      Fond of teasing, tricks malicious —

      Will you stop and pluck my roses?

      Many drops I waste and spill,

      So my scornful mood you curse:

      Who to brim his cup doth fill,

      Many drops must waste and spill —

      Yet he thinks the wine no worse.

      Harsh and gentle, fine and mean,

      Quite rare and common, dirty and clean,

      The fools' and the sages' go-between:

      All this I will be, this have been,

      Dove and serpent and swine, I ween!

      That eye and sense be not fordone

      E'en in the shade pursue the sun!

      Smoothest ice,

      A paradise

      To him who is a dancer nice.

      A feud that knows not flaw nor break,

      Rather then patched-up friendship, take.

      Rust's needed: keenness will not satisfy!

      "He is too young!" the rabble loves to cry.

      "How shall I reach the top?" No time

      For thus reflecting! Start to climb!

      Ask never! Cease that whining, pray!

      Take without asking, take alway!

      Narrow souls hate I like the devil,

      Souls wherein grows nor good nor evil.

      He shot an empty word

      Into the empty blue;

      But on the way it met

      A woman whom it slew.

      A twofold pain is easier far to bear

      Than one: so now to suffer wilt thou dare?

      Brother, to puff thyself up ne'er be quick:

      For burst thou shalt be by a tiny prick!

      "The woman seize, who to thy heart appeals!"

      Man's motto: woman seizes not, but steals.

      If I explain my wisdom, surely

      'Tis but entangled more securely,

      I can't expound myself aright:

      But he that's boldly up and doing,

      His own unaided course pursuing,

      Upon my image casts more light!

      Those old capricious fancies, friend!

      You say your palate naught can please,

      I hear you bluster, spit and wheeze,

      My love, my patience soon will end!

      Pluck up your courage, follow me —

      Here's a fat toad! Now then, don't blink,

      Swallow it whole, nor pause to think!

      From your dyspepsia you'll be free!

      Many men's minds I know full well,

      Yet what mine own is, cannot tell.

      I cannot see – my eye's too near —

      And falsely to myself appear.

      'Twould be to me a benefit

      Far from myself if I could sit,

      Less distant than my enemy,

      And yet my nearest friend's too nigh —

      'Twixt him and me, just in the middle!

      What do I ask for? Guess my riddle.

      I must ascend an hundred stairs,

      I must ascend: the herd declares

      I'm cruel: "Are we made of stone?"

      I must ascend an hundred stairs:

      All men the part of stair disown.

      "No longer path! Abyss and silence chilling!"

      Thy fault! To leave the path thou wast too willing!

      Now comes the test! Keep cool – eyes bright and clear!

      Thou'rt lost for sure, if thou permittest – fear.

      See the infant, helpless creeping —

      Swine around it grunt swine-talk —

      Weeping always, naught but weeping,

      Will it ever learn to walk?

      Never fear! Just wait, I swear it

      Soon to dance will be inclined,

      And this babe, when two legs bear it,

      Standing on its head you'll find.

      Did I not turn, a rolling cask,

      Ever about myself, I ask,

      How could I without burning run

      Close on the track of the hot sun?

      Too nigh, my friend my joy doth mar,

      I'd have him