No longer friends, they are—what should I call them?—

No, leave! Do not be angry! You—cannot live here:

To the grey yonder of the abyss?

O noon of life! Second time of youth!

As that arrow,—away from here! For your own good! .....

Only he who changes remains akin to me.

Here among this most remote realm of ice and rock—

Where no one lives, in desolate polar zones,

That knock at my heart and window nightly,

Wounded and stopped by his own victory?

Who still reads the signs

Once you were young, now—you are younger!

The strongest was he who drew his bow like this— —:

Those I deemed changed into my kin,

This song is over—the sweet cry of longing

Who lives so close to the stars

O longing of youth that misunderstood itself!

Those I longed for,

That they have aged has driven them away:

Keep your door open to new friends!

Now we celebrate together, certain of victory,

You hesitate, amazed—oh, you are quite sullen!

O summer garden!

I've become a wicked hunter!— Look how much

Let the old go! Let the memories go!

Nothing but ghosts of friends!

A wrestler, who too often subdued himself?

Is afraid to grasp,—like parchment that is discolored, burnt.

Died in my mouth—

The wedding has come for light and darkness .....

The one you wanted?

Here one has to be a hunter and chamois-like.

My realm—what realm stretches further?

The friend of noon—no! do not ask who he is—

Restless happiness in standing, watching and waiting: —

My bow is bent!

Now the world laughs, the dread curtain is rent,

Restless happiness in standing, watching and waiting!

Am I another? A stranger to myself?

What once tied us together, one hope's bond —

In the heights my table was set for you: —

I sought where the most biting wind blows?

Where are you friends? Come! It's time! It's time!

I learned to live

Sprung from myself?

— My old friends! Now how pale you look!

New friends! Come! It's time! It's time!

But now alas! No arrow is dangerous

Full of love and fear!

— O withered word, once fragrant as the rose!

— There you are, friends!— Alas, but I am not

I compare it to parchment that the hand

You turn away?— O heart, you have borne enough,

That look at me and say: "were we once friends?" —

Love once inscribed on it, the faded ones?

Friend Zarathustra has come, the guest of guests!

Become a ghost who crosses glaciers?

O summer garden!

I await friends, ready day and night,

At noon was the time one became two ...

O noon of life! O time to celebrate!

Your hope stayed strong:

And my honey—who has tasted it? .....

Too often resisted his own strength,

I await friends, ready day and night

The feast of feasts:

And what I am, to you friends—I am not?

I—am no longer the same? Hands, face, gait have changed?

A sorceror did it, the friend at the right time,

Unlearned man and god, curse and prayer?