How faded grew the world! On weary, slackened strings the wind Playeth his tune. Fair Hope fled far-- He waileth after.
'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! Fly away! fly away! O fruit of the tree, Thou tremblest, fallest? What secret whispered unto thee The Night, That icy shudders deck thy cheek, Thy cheek of purple hue?
Silent art thou, nor dost reply-- Who speaketh still?--
'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! Fly away! fly away!-- "I am not fair,"-- So speaks the lone star-flower,-- "Yet men I love And comfort men-- Many flowers shall they behold, And stoop to me, And break me, ah!-- So that within their eyes shall gleam Remembrance swift, _Remembrance of far fairer things than I_:-- I see it--see it--and I perish so."
'Tis Autumn:--Autumn yet shall break thy heart! Fly away! fly away!
CAMPO SANTO DI STAGLIENO[5]
Maiden, in gentle wise You stroke your lamb's soft fleece, Yet flashing from your eyes Both light and flame ne'er cease. Creature of merry jest And favourite near and far, Pious with kindness blest, Amorosissima!
What broke so soon the chain, What does your heart deplore? And who, pray, would not fain, If you loved him, adore?-- You're mute, but from your eye, The tear-drop is not far, You're mute: you'll yearn and die, Amorosissima?
THE LITTLE BRIG NAMED "LITTLE ANGEL"[6]
"Little Angel" call they me!-- Now a ship, but once a girl, Ah, and still too much a girl! My steering-wheel, so bright to see, But for sake of love doth whirl.
"Little Angel" call they me, With hundred flags to ornament, A captain smart, on glory bent, Steers me, puffed with vanity (He himself's an ornament).
"Little Angel" call they me, And where'er a little flame Gleams for me, I, like a lamb, Go my journey eagerly (I was always such a lamb!).
"Little Angel" call they me-- Think you I can bark and whine Like a dog, this mouth of mine Throwing smoke and flame full free? Ah, a devil's mouth is mine.
"Little Angel" call they me-- Once I spoke a bitter word, That my lover, when he heard, Fast and far away did flee: Yes, I killed him with that word!
"Little Angel" call they me: Hardly heard, I sprang so glib From the cliff and broke a rib: From my frame my soul went free, Yes, escaped me through that rib.
"Little Angel" call they me-- Then my soul, like cat in flight Straight did on this ship alight Swiftly bounding--one, two, three! Yes, its claws are swift to smite.
"Little Angel" call they me!-- Now a ship, but once a girl, Ah, and still too much a girl! My steering-wheel, so bright to see, For sake of love alone doth whirl.
MAIDEN'S SONG
Yesterday with seventeen years Wisdom reached I, a maiden fair, I am grey-haired, it appears, Now in all things--save my hair.
Yesterday, I had a thought, Was't a thought?--you laugh and scorn! Did you ever have a thought? Rather was a feeling born.
Dare a woman think? This screed Wisdom long ago begot: "Follow woman must, not lead; If she thinks, she follows not."
Wisdom speaks--I credit naught: Rather hops and stings like flea: "Woman seldom harbours thought; If she thinks, no good is she!"
To this wisdom, old, renowned, Bow I in deep reverence: Now my wisdom I'll expound In its very quintessence.
A voice spoke in me yesterday As ever--listen if you can: "Woman is more beauteous aye, But more interesting--man!"
"PIA, CARITATEVOLE, AMOROSISSIMA"[7]
Cave where the dead ones rest, O marble falsehood, thee I love: for easy jest My soul thou settest free.
To-day, to-day alone, My soul to tears is stirred, At thee, the pictured stone, At thee, the graven word.
This picture (none need wis) I kissed the other day. When there's so much to kiss Why did I kiss the--clay?
Who knows the reason why? "A tombstone fool!" you laugh: I kissed--I'll not deny-- E'en the long epitaph.
TO FRIENDSHIP
Hail to thee, Friendship! My hope consummate, My first red daybreak! Alas, so endless Oft path and night seemed, And life's long road Aimless and hateful! Now life I'd double In thine eyes seeing Dawn-glory, triumph, Most gracious goddess!
PINE TREE AND LIGHTNING
O'er man and beast I grew so high, And speak--but none will give reply.
Too lone and tall my crest did soar: I wait: what am I waiting for?
The clouds are grown too nigh of late, 'Tis the first lightning I await.
TREE IN AUTUMN
Why did ye, blockheads, me awaken While I in blissful blindness stood? Ne'er I by fear more fell was shaken-- Vanished my golden dreaming mood.
Bear-elephants, with trunks all greedy, Knock first! Where have your manners fled? I threw--and fear has made me speedy-- Dishes of ripe fruit--at your head.
AMONG FOES (OR AGAINST CRITICS)
(_After a Gipsy Proverb_)
Here the gallows, there the cord, And the hangman's ruddy beard. Round, the venom-glancing horde:-- Nothing new to me's appeared. Many times I've seen the sight, Now laughing in your face I cry, "Hanging me is useless quite: Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!"
Beggars all! Ye envy me Winning what ye never won! True, I suffer agony, But for you--your life is done. Many times I've faced death's plight, Yet steam and light and breath am I. Hanging me is useless quite: Die? Nay, nay, I cannot die!
THE NEW COLUMBUS[8]
"Dearest," said Columbus, "never Trust a Genoese again. At the blue he gazes ever, Distance doth his soul enchain.
Strangeness is to me too dear-- Genoa has sunk and passed-- Heart, be cool! Hand, firmly steer! Sea before me: land--at last?
Firmly let us plant our feet, Ne'er can we give up this game-- From the distance what doth greet? One death, one happiness, one fame.
IN LONESOMENESS[9]
The cawing crows Townwards on whirring pinions roam; Soon come the snows-- Thrice happy now who hath a home!
Fast-rooted there, Thou gazest backwards--oh, how long! Thou fool, why dare Ere winter come, this world of wrong?
This world--a gate To myriad deserts dumb and hoar! Who lost through fate What thou hast lost, shall rest no more.
Now stand'st thou pale, A frozen pilgrimage thy doom, Like smoke whose trail Cold and still colder skies consume.
Fly, bird, and screech, Like desert-fowl, thy song apart! Hide out of reach, Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart.
Firmly let us plant our feet, Ne'er can we give up this game-- From the distance what doth greet? One death, one happiness, one fame.
The cawing crows Townwards on whirring pinions roam: Soon come the snows-- Woe unto him who hath no home!
_My Answer_
The man presumes-- Good Lord!--to think that I'd return To those warm rooms Where snug the German ovens burn
My friend, you see 'Tis but thy folly drives me far,-- Pity for _thee_ And all that German blockheads are!
VENICE
ON the bridge I stood, Mellow was the night, Music came from far-- Drops of gold outpoured On the shimmering waves. Song, gondolas, light, Floated a-twinkling out into the dusk.
The chords of my soul, moved By unseen impulse, throbbed Secretly into a gondola song, With thrills of bright-hued ecstasy. Had I a listener there?
[Footnote 1: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.]
[Footnote 2: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.]
[Footnote 3: This poem was written on the betrothal of one of Nietzsche's Bâle friends.--TR.]
[Footnote 4: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.]
[Footnote 5: Campo Santo di Staglieno is the cemetery of Staglieno, near Genoa. The poem was inspired by the sight of a girl with a lamb on the tombstone, with the words underneath-- "Pia, caritatevole, amorosissima."]
[Footnote 6: Published by Nietzsche himself. The poem was inspired by a ship that was christened _Angiolina,_ in memory of a love-sick girl who leapt into the sea.--TR.]
[Footnote 7: See above, p. 157. Both poems were inspired by the same tombstone.--TR.]
[Footnote 8: The Genoese is Nietzsche himself, who lived a great part of his life at Genoa.--TR.]
[Footnote 9: Translated by Herman Scheffauer.]
EPIGRAMS
CAUTION: POISON![1]
He who cannot laugh at this had better not start reading;
For if he read and do not laugh, physic he'll be needing!
HOW TO FIND ONE'S COMPANY
With jesters it is good to jest: Who likes to tickle, is tickled best.
THE WORD
I dearly love the living word, That flies to you like a merry bird, Ready with pleasant nod to greet, E'en in misfortune welcome, sweet, Yet it has blood, can pant you deep: Then to the dove's ear it will creep: And curl itself, or start for flight-- Whate'er it does, it brings delight.