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