No More Learning

A dead word is a hateful thing,
A barren, rattling, ting-ting-ting.
A curse on ugly trades I cry
That doom all little words to die!
The Wanderer and his Shadow
A Book
You'll ne'er go on nor yet go back?
Is e'en for chamois here no track?
So here I wait and firmly clasp
What eye and hand will let me grasp!
Five-foot-broad ledge, red morning's breath,
And under me—world, man, and death!
Joyful Wisdom
THIS is no book—for such, who looks?
Coffins and shrouds, naught else, are books!
What's dead and gone they make their prey,
Yet in my book lives fresh To-day.


## p. 167 (#225) ############################################

SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 167
This is no book—for such, who looks?
Who cares for coffins, shrouds, and spooks?
This is a promise, an act of will,
A last bridge-breaking, for good or ill;
A wind from sea, an anchor light,
A whirr of wheels, a steering right.
The cannon roars, white smokes its flame,
The sea—the monster—laughs and scents its game.
Dedication *
He who has much to tell, keeps much
Silent and unavowed.
He who with lightning-flash would touch
Must long remain a cloud!
The New Testament!
Is this your Book of Sacred Lore,
For blessing, cursing, and such uses ? -
Come, come now: at the very door
God some one else's wife seduces?
The "True German"
"O PEUPLE des meillures Tartuffes,
To you I'm true, I wis. "
He spoke, but in the swiftest skiff"
Went to Cosmopolis.
* On the title-page of a copy of Joyful Wisdom, dedicated
to Herr August Bungal. —Tr.
t Translated by Francis Bickley.


## p. 168 (#226) ############################################

168
POETRY
TO THE DARWINIANS *
A FOOL this honest Britisher
Was not . . . But a Philosopher!
As that you really rate him?
Set Darwin up by Goethe's side ?
But majesty you thus deride-
Genii majestatem !
To HAFIZ
(Toast Question of a Water-Drinker)
WHAT you have builded, yonder inn,
O’ertops all houses high :
The posset you have brewed therein
The world will ne'er drink dry.
The bird that once appeared on earth
As phenix, is your guest.
The mouse that gave a mountain birth
Is you yourself confessed !
You're all and naught, you're inn and wine,
You're phenix, mountain, mouse.
Back to yourself to come you pine
Or fly from out your house.
Downward from every height you've sunk,
And in the depths still shine:
The drunkenness of all the drunk,
Why do you ask for—wine ?
* Translated by Francis Bickley.


## p. 169 (#227) ############################################

SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 169
To Spinoza
Of " All in One " a fervent devotee
A more Dei, of reasoned piety,
Doff shoes! A land thrice holy this must be! —
Yet underneath this love there sate
A torch of vengeance, burning secretly
The Hebrew God was gnawed by Hebrew hate.
Hermit! Do I aright interpret thee?
Arthur Schopenhauer
That which he taught, has had its day,
That which he lived, shall live for aye:
Look at the man! No bondsman he!
Nor e'er to mortal bowed his knee!
To Richard Wagner
O YOU who chafe at every fetter's link,
A restless spirit, never free:
Who, though victorious aye, in bonds still cowered,
Disgusted more and more, and flayed and scoured,
Till from each cup of balm you poison drink,
Alas! and by the Cross all helpless sink,
You too, you too, among the overpowered!
For long I watched this play so weirdly shaped,
Breathing an air of prison, vault, and dread,
With churchly fragrance, clouds of incense spread,
And yet I found all strange, in terror gaped.
But now I throw my fool's cap o'er my head,
For I escaped!


## p. 170 (#228) ############################################

170
POETRY
MUSIC OF THE SOUTH *
ALL that my eagle e'er saw clear,
I see and feel in heart to-day
(Although my hope was wan and gray)
Thy song like arrow pierced mine ear,
A balm to touch, a balm to hear,
As down from heaven it winged its way.
So now for lands of southern fire
To happy isles where Grecian nymphs hold sport!
Thither now turn the ship's desire
No ship e'er sped to fairer port.
A RIDDLE
A RIDDLE here can you the answer scent?
“When man discovers, woman must invent. ”—
TO FALSE FRIENDS
You stole, your eye's not clear to-day.
You only stole a thought, sir? nay,
Why be so rudely modest, pray?
Here, take another handful—stay,
Take all I have, you swine-you may
Eat till your filth is purged away.
FRIEND YORICK
BE of good cheer,
Friend Yorick! If this thought gives pain,
As now it does, I fear,
* Probably written for Peter Gast, Nietzsche's faithful
friend, and a musician whose “Southern ” music Nietzsche
admired. - TR


## p. 171 (#229) ############################################

SONGS, EPIGRAMS, ETC. 171
Is it not " God "? And though in error lain,
'Tis but your own dear child,
Your flesh and blood,
That tortures you and gives you pain,
Your little rogue and do-no-good,
See if the rod will change its mood!
In brief, friend Yorick, leave that drear
Philosophy—and let me now
Whisper one word as medicine,
My own prescription, in your ear,
My remedy against such spleen—
"Who loves his God, chastises him, I ween. "
Resolution
I SHOULD be wise to suit my mood,
Not at the beck of other men:
God made as stupid as he could
The world—well, let me praise him then.
And if I make not straight my track,
But, far as may be, wind and bend,
That's how the sage begins his tack,
And that is how the fool will—end.
The world stands never still,
Night loves the glowing day—
Sweet sounds to ear " I will! "
And sweeter still " I may! "


## p. 172 (#230) ############################################

172
POETRY
THE HALCYONIAN *
ADDRESSING me most bashfully,
A woman to-day said this :
“What would you be like in ecstasy,
If sober you feel such bliss ? ”
FINALE *
LAUGHTER is a serious art.
I would do it better daily.
Did I well to-day or no?
Came the spark right from the heart?
Little use though head wag gaily,
If the heart contain no glow.
* Translated by Francis Bickley.


## p. 173 (#231) ############################################

DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS
(1888)
These are the songs of Zarathustra which he sang to
himself so as to endure his last solitude.
173


## p. 174 (#232) ############################################



## p. 175 (#233) ############################################

DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS
OF THE POVERTY OF THE RICHEST
TEN years passed by,
Not a drop reached me,
No rain-fraught wind, no dew of love
-A rainless land. . . .
Now entreat I my wisdom
Not to become stingy in this drought;
Overflow thyself, trickle thy dew,
Be thyself the rain of the parched wilderness !
I once bade the clouds
Depart from my mountains ;
Once I said to them,
“More light, ye dark ones! ”
To-day I entice them to come:
Make me dark with your udders:
- I would milk you,
Ye cows of the heights !
Milk-warm wisdom, sweet dew of love
I pour over the land.
Away, away, ye truths
That look so gloomy !
I will not have on my mountains
Bitter, impatient truths.
175


## p. 176 (#234) ############################################

176
POETRY
May truth approach me to-day
Gilded by smiles,
Sweetened by the sun, browned by love,-
A ripe truth I would fain break off from the tree.
To-day I stretch my hands
Toward the tresses of chance,
Wise enough to lead,
To outwit chance like a child.
To-day I will be hospitable
'Gainst the unwelcome,
'Gainst destiny itself I will not be prickly. . . .
-Zarathustra is no hedgehog.
My soul,
Insatiable with its tongue,
Has already tasted of all things good and evil,
And has dived into all depths.
But ever, like the cork,
It swims to the surface again,
And floats like oil upon brown seas:
Because of this soul men call me fortunate.
Who are my father and mother ?
Is not my father Prince Plenty?
And my mother Silent Laughter?
Did not the union of these two
Beget me, the enigmatic beast-
Me, the monster of light-
Me, Zarathustra, the squanderer of all wisdom?
Sick to-day from tenderness,
A dewy wind,


## p. 177 (#235) ############################################

DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS 177
Zarathustra sits waiting, waiting on his moun-
tains-
Sweet and stewing
In his own juice,
Beneath his own summit,
Beneath his ice,
Weary and happy,
A Creator on his seventh day.
-Silence !
A truth passes over me
Like a cloud,
With invisible lightnings it strikes me,
On broad, slow stairs,
Its happiness climbs to me:
Come, come, beloved truth!
-Silence!
'Tis my truth !
From timid eyes,
From velvet shudders,
Her glance meets mine,
Sweet and wicked, a maiden's glance.
She has guessed the reason of my happiness,
She has guessed me—ha! what is she thinking?
A purple dragon
Lurks in the abyss of her maiden's glance.
is glannapping king?
-Silence! My truth is speaking ! -
“Woe to thee, Zarathustra!
Thou lookest like one
That hath swallowed gold:
They will slit up thy belly yet!
M


## p. 178 (#236) ############################################

178
POETRY
Thou art too rich,
Thou corrupter of many!
Thou makest too many jealous,
Too many poor. . . .
Even on me thy light casts a shadow-
I feel chill: go away, thou rich one
Go away, Zarathustra, from the path of thy sun! ”
BETWEEN BIRDS OF PREY
Who would here descend,
How soon
Is he swallowed up by the depths !
But thou, Zarathustra,
Still lovest the abysses,
Lovest them as doth the fir tree!
The fir Alings its roots
Where the rock itself gazes
Shuddering at the depths,-
The fir pauses before the abysses
Where all around
Would fain descend :
Amid the impatience
Of wild, rolling, leaping torrents
It waits so patient, stern and silent,
Lonely. . . .
Lonely!
Who would venture
Here to be guest-
To be thy guest ?


## p. 179 (#237) ############################################

DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS
179
A bird of prey, perchance
Joyous at others' misfortune,
Will cling persistent
To the hair of the steadfast watcher,
With frenzied laughter,
A vulture's laughter. . . .
Wherefore so steadfast ?
- Mocks he so cruel:
He must have wings, who loves the abyss,
He must not stay on the cliff,
As thou who hangest there! -
O Zarathustra,
Cruellest Nimrod !
Of late still a hunter of God,
A spider's web to capture virtue,
An arrow of evil !
Now
Hunted by thyself,
Thine own prey
Caught in the grip of thine own soul.
Now
Lonely to me and thee,
Twofold in thine own knowledge,
Mid a hundred mirrors
False to thyself,
Mid a hundred memories
Uncertain,
Weary at every wound,
Shivering at every frost,
Throttled in thine own noose,
Self-knower!
Self-hangman!


## p. 180 (#238) ############################################

180
POETRY
Why didst bind thyself
With the noose of thy wisdom?
Why luredst thyself
Into the old serpent's paradise ?
Why stolest into
Thyself, thyself? . . .
A sick man now,
Sick of serpent's poison,
A captive now
Who hast drawn the hardest lot:
In thine own shaft
Bowed as thou workest,
In thine own cavern
Digging at thyself,
Helpless quite,
Stiff,
A cold corse
Overwhelmed with a hundred burdens,
Overburdened by thyself,
A knower!
A self-knower !
The wise Zarathustra! . . .
Thou soughtest the heaviest burden,
So foundest thou thyself,
And canst not shake thyself off. . . .
Watching,
Chewing,
One that stands upright no more!
Thou wilt grow deformed even in thy grave,
Deformed spirit !


## p. 181 (#239) ############################################

DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS
181
And of late still so proud
On all the stilts of thy pride!
Of late still the godless hermit,
The hermit with one comrade—the devil,
The scarlet prince of every devilment! . . .
Now-
Between two nothings
Huddled up,
A question-mark,
A weary riddle,
A riddle for vultures. . . .
They will “solve" thee,
They hunger already for thy “solution,”
They flutter already about their "riddle,"
About thee, the doomed one!
O Zarathustra,
Self-knower!
Self-hangman!


## p. 182 (#240) ############################################

I82 POETRY
The Sun Sinks
Not much longer thirstest thou,
O burnt-up heart!
Promise is in the air,
From unknown mouths I feel a breath,
—The great coolness comes. . . .
My sun stood hot above me at noonday:
A greeting to you that are coming,
Ye sudden winds,
Ye cool spirits of afternoon!
The air is strange and pure.
See how the night
Leers at me with eyes askance,
Like a seducer! . . .
Be strong, my brave heart,
And ask not "Why? "
The day of my life!
The sun sinks,
And the calm flood
Already is gilded.
Warm breathes the rock:
Did happiness at noonday
Take its siesta well upon it?
In green light
Happiness still glimmers up from the brown abyss


## p. 183 (#241) ############################################

DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS 183
Day of my life! '
Eventide's nigh,
Thy eye already
Glows half-broken,
Thy dew already
Pours out its tear-drops,
Already over the white seas
Walks the purple of thy love,
Thy last hesitating holiness. . . .
3
Golden gaiety, come!
Thou, the sweetest foretaste—
Foretaste of death!
—Went I my way too swiftly?
Now that the foot grows weary,
Thine eye still catches me,
Thy happiness still catches me.
Around but waves and play.
Whatever was hard
—Sank into blue oblivion.
My boat now stands idle.
Storm and motion—how did it forget them!
Desire and Hope are drowned,
Sea and soul are becalmed.
Seventh Solitude!
Never felt I
Sweet certainty nearer,
Or warmer the sun's ray.
—Glows not the ice of my summit yet?
Silvery, light, a fish,
Now my vessel swims out. . . .


## p. 184 (#242) ############################################

184 POETRY
The Last Desire *
So would I die
As then I saw him die,
The friend, who like a god
Into my darkling youth
Threw lightning's light and fire:
Buoyant yet deep was he,
Yea, in the battle's strife
With the gay dancer's heart.
Amid the warriors
His was the lightest heart,
Amid the conquerors
His brow was dark with thought—
He was a fate poised on his destiny:
Unbending, casting thought into the past
And future, such was he.
Fearful beneath the weight of victory,
Yet chanting, as both victory and death
Came hand and hand to him.
Commanding even as he lay in death,
And his command that man annihilate.
So would I die
As then I saw him die,
Victorious and destroying.
* Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.


## p. 185 (#243) ############################################

DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS 185
The Beacon
HERE, where the island grew amid the seas,
A sacrificial rock high-towering,
Here under darkling heavens,
Zarathustra lights his mountain-fires,
A beacon for ships that have strayed,
A beacon for them that have an answer! . . .
These flames with grey-white belly,
In cold distances sparkle their desire,
Stretches its neck towards ever purer heights—
A snake upreared in impatience:
This signal I set up there before me.
This flame is mine own soul,
Insatiable for new distances,
Speeding upward, upward its silent heat.
Why flew Zarathustra from beasts and men?
Why fled he swift from all continents?
Six solitudes he knows already—
But even the sea was not lonely enough for him,
On the island he could climb, on the mount he
became flame,
At the seventh solitude
He casts a fishing-rod far o'er his head.
Storm-tossed seamen! Wreckage of ancient stars
Ye seas of the future! Uncompassed heavens!
At all lonely ones I now throw my fishing-rod.
Give answer to the flame's impatience,
Let me, the fisher on high mountains,
Catch my seventh, last solitude!


## p. 186 (#244) ############################################

186
POETRY
FAME AND ETERNITY*
SPEAK, tell me, how long wilt thou brood
Upon this adverse fate of thine ?
Beware, lest from thy doleful mood
A countenance so dark is brewed
That men in seeing thee divine
A hate more bitter than the brine.
Speak, why does Zarathustra roam
Upon the towering mountain-height?
Distrustful, cankered, dour, his home
Is shut so long from human sight?
See, suddenly flames forth a lightning-flash,
The pit profound with thunderous challenge fights
Against the heavens, midst clamorous crack and
crash
Of the great mountain! Cradled in the heights,
Born as the fruit of hate and lightning's love,
The wrath of Zarathustra dwells above
And looms with menace of a thundercloud.
Ye, who have roofs, go quickly, creep and hide!
To bed, ye tenderlings! For thunders loud
Upon the blasts of storm triumphant ride,
And bastions and ramparts sway and rock,
. * Translated by Dr. G. T. Wrench.


## p. 187 (#245) ############################################

DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS 187
The lightning sears the dusky face of night,
And eerie truths like gleams of Hades mock
The sense familiar. So in storm breaks forth
The flaming curse of Zarathustra's wrath.
This fame, which all the wide world loves,
I touch with gloves,
And scorning beat
Beneath my feet.
Who hanker after the pay of it?
Who cast themselves in the way of it?
These prostitutes to gold,
These merchant folk. They fold
Their unctuous palms over the jingling fame,
Whose ringing chink wins all the world's acclaim.
Hast thou the lust to buy? It needs no skill.
They are all venal. Let thy purse be deep,
And let their greedy paws unhindered creep
Into its depths. So let them take their fill,
For if thou dost not offer them enough,
Their "virtue" they'll parade, to hide their huff.
They are all virtuous, yea every one.
Virtue and fame are ever in accord
So long as time doth run,


## p. 188 (#246) ############################################

188 POETRY
The tongues that prate of virtue as reward
Earn fame. For virtue is fame's clever bawd.
Amongst these virtuous, I prefer to be
One guilty of all vile and horrid sin!
And when I see fame's importunity
So advertise her shameless harlotry,
Ambition turns to gall. Amidst such kin
One place alone, the lowest, would I win.
This fame, which all the wide world loves,
I touch with gloves,
And scorning beat
Beneath my feet.
3
Hush! I see vastness! —and of vasty things
Shall man be dumb, unless he can enshrine
Them with his words? Then take the might which
brings
The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom
mine!
I look above, there rolls the star-strown sea.
O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars!
And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars—
A shining constellation falls towards me.


## p. 189 (#247) ############################################

DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS 189
O loftiest, star-clustered crown of Being!
O carved tablets of Eternity!
And dost thou truly bend thy way to me?
Thy loveliness, to all—obscurity,
What? Fear'st not to unveil before my seeing?
O shield of Destiny!
O carven tablets of Eternity!
Yea, verily, thou knowest—what mankind doth
hate,
What I alone do love: thou art inviolate
To strokes of change and time, of fates the fate!
'Tis only thou, O dire Necessity,
Canst kindle everlasting love in me!
O loftiest crown of Life! O shield of Fate!
That no desire can reach to invocate,
That ne'er defiled or sullied is by Nay,
Eternal Yea of life, for e'er am I thy Yea:
For I love thee, Eternity!


## p. 190 (#248) ############################################



## p. 191 (#249) ############################################

FRAGMENTS
OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS
(1882–88)
191


## p. 192 (#250) ############################################



## p. 193 (#251) ############################################

FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-
DITHYRAMBS
Speeches, Parables, and Similes
3
My home's in the highlands,
For the highlands I yearn not,
I raise not mine eyes aloft:
I am one that looks downward,
One that must bless,—
All blessers look downward.
II
Thus I began,
I unlearned all self-pity!
13
Not in shattering idols,
But in shattering the idol-worshipper in thee,
Consisted thy valour.
14
See, there stand
Those heavy cats of granite,
Those old, old Values.
Woe is me! How overthrow them?
* * # *
Scratching cats,
With paws that are fettered,
There they sit
And their glance is poison.
N


## p. 194 (#252) ############################################

194
POETRY
17
A lightning-flash became my wisdom :
With sword of adamant it clove me every
darkness !
19
A thought that still
Flows hot, like lava :
But all streams of lava
Build a fortress around them,
And every thought finally
Oppresses itself with laws.
20
Such is my will:
And since 'tis my will,
All goes as I wish-
That was my final wisdom:
I willed what I must,
And thus I forced every “must,”—
Since then has been for me no “must. "
- 23
Deceit
Is war's whole art.
The fox's skin
Is my secret shirt of mail.
25
We of the new underworld
Grub for new treasures.
Godless it seemed to the ancients
To disturb the earth's bowels for treasures :
And once more this godlessness revives,
Hear ye not earth's bowels thunder ?


## p. 195 (#253) ############################################

FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS 195
28
Looking for love and finding masks,
Finding accursed masks and having to break
them!
29
Do I love you?
Yes, as the rider loves his steed,
That carryeth him to his goal.
30
His pity is cruel,
His loving hand-clasp bruises,
Give not a giant your hand !
31
Ye fear me?
Ye fear the taut-strung bow?
Ye fear a man might set his arrow to the bow?
33
I am naught but a word-maker.
What matter words ?
What matter I? .
34
Ah, my friends,
Whither has flown all that is called “good”?
Whither all good people?
Whither the innocence of all these falsehoods ?
I call all good,
Leaves and grass, happiness, blessing, and rain.


## p. 196 (#254) ############################################

196
POETRY
35
Not through his sins and greatest follies,
Through his perfection I suffered,
As I suffered most from men. *
36
“ Man is evil. "
So spake the wisest
For my consolement.
37
And only when I to myself am a burden
Do ye fall heavy upon me!
38
Too soon, already
I laugh again :
For a foe 'tis easy
To make me amends.
39
Gentle am I towards man and chance;
Gentle with all men, and even with grasses :
A spot of sunshine on winter curtains,
Moist with tenderness,
A thawing wind to snow-bound souls:
Proud-minded towards trilling
Gains, where I see the huckster's long finger,
'Tis aye my pleasure
To be bamboozled :
Such is the bidding of my fastidious taste.
* Nietzsche here alludes to Christian perfection, which he
considers equivalent to harmlessness. —TR.


## p. 197 (#255) ############################################

FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS 197
40
A strange breath breathes and spits at me,
Am I a mirror, that straightway is clouded?
Little people,
Confiding, open-hearted,
But low-built portals,
Where only the low of stature can enter.
• # • »
How can I get through the city-gate
Who had forgotten to live among dwarfs?
42
My wisdom was like to the sun,
I longed to give them light,
But I only deceived them.
The sun of my wisdom
Blinded the eyes
Of these poor bats. . . .
43
Blacker and eviller things didst thou see than ever
a seer did:
Through the revels of Hell no sage had ever
journeyed.
44
Back! on my heels too closely ye follow!
Back! lest my wisdom should tread on you, crush
you!
45
"He goes to hell who goes thy ways! "
So be it! to my hell
I'll pave the way myself with well-made maxims.


## p. 198 (#256) ############################################

198
POETRY
46
Your God, you tell me,
Is a God of love?
The sting of conscience
A sting from God?
A sting of love?
48
They chew gravel,
They lie on their bellies
Before little round things,
They adore all that falleth not down-
These last servants of God
Believers (in reality)!
50
They made their God out of nothing,
What wonder if now he is naught?
51
Ye loftier men! There have once been
More thoughtful times, more reflective,
Than is our to-day and to-morrow.
52
Our time is like a sick woman-
Let her but shriek, rave, scold,
And break the tables and dishes !
54
Ye mount?
Is it true that ye mount,
Ye loftier men ?


## p. 199 (#257) ############################################

FRAGMENTS OF DIONYSUS-DITHYRAMBS 199
Are ye not, pray,
Like to a ball
Sped to the heights
By the lowest that's in you ?
Do ye not flee from yourselves, O ye climbers ?
All that you thought
You had to despise,
Where you only renounced !
Whered to de bought 55
56
All men repeat the refrain !
No, no, and thrice say No!
What's all this yap-yap talk of heaven ?
We would not enter the kingdom of heaven,
The kingdom of earth shall be ours?
57
The will redeemeth,
He that has nothing to do
In a Nothing finds food for trouble.
58
You cannot endure it more,
Your tyrannous destiny,
Love it-you're given no choice !
59
These alone free us from woes
(Choose now! )
Sudden death
Or long-drawn-out love.


## p. 200 (#258) ############################################

200 POETRY
60
Of death we are sure,
So why not be merry?
61
The worst of pleas
I have hidden from you—that life grew tedious!
Throw it away, that ye find it again to your taste!
62
Lonely days,
Ye must walk on valorous feet!
63
Loneliness
Plants naught, it ripens. . . .
And even then you must have the sun for your
friend.
64
Once more must ye plunge in the throng—
In the throng ye grow hard and smooth.
Solitude withers
And lastly destroys.