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

But now alas! No arrow is dangerous

Sprung from myself?

Died in my mouth—

O noon of life! O time to celebrate!

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

Friend Zarathustra has come, the guest of guests!

My realm—what realm stretches further?

And my honey—who has tasted it? .....

I sought where the most biting wind blows?

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

Too often resisted his own strength,

This song is over—the sweet cry of longing

Become a ghost who crosses glaciers?

In the heights my table was set for you: —

That knock at my heart and window nightly,

Wounded and stopped by his own victory?

Now we celebrate together, certain of victory,

I await friends, ready day and night,

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

Full of love and fear!

— O withered word, once fragrant as the rose!

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

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

Only he who changes remains akin to me.

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

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

— My old friends! Now how pale you look!

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

Those I deemed changed into my kin,

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

Who lives so close to the stars

O summer garden!

My bow is bent!

O noon of life! Second time of youth!

Restless happiness in standing, watching and waiting!

Unlearned man and god, curse and prayer?

I learned to live

I await friends, ready day and night

Where no one lives, in desolate polar zones,

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

O summer garden!

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

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

Now the world laughs, the dread curtain is rent,

The feast of feasts:

Here among this most remote realm of ice and rock—

At noon was the time one became two ...

Keep your door open to new friends!

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

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

Those I longed for,

A wrestler, who too often subdued himself?

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

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

Am I another? A stranger to myself?

The one you wanted?

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

Restless happiness in standing, watching and waiting: —

O longing of youth that misunderstood itself!

To the grey yonder of the abyss?

Your hope stayed strong:

Let the old go! Let the memories go!

I compare it to parchment that the hand

That they have aged has driven them away:

Love once inscribed on it, the faded ones?

Nothing but ghosts of friends!

Who still reads the signs

Once you were young, now—you are younger!

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