That knock at my heart and window nightly,

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

— O withered word, once fragrant as the rose!

Now the world laughs, the dread curtain is rent,

A wrestler, who too often subdued himself?

Those I longed for,

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

The one you wanted?

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

Let the old go! Let the memories go!

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

Restless happiness in standing, watching and waiting!

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

Here among this most remote realm of ice and rock—

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

Keep your door open to new friends!

Too often resisted his own strength,

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

That they have aged has driven them away:

Restless happiness in standing, watching and waiting: —

Full of love and fear!

This song is over—the sweet cry of longing

O noon of life! O time to celebrate!

I sought where the most biting wind blows?

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

Sprung from myself?

I learned to live

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

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

Who still reads the signs

At noon was the time one became two ...

Unlearned man and god, curse and prayer?

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

O summer garden!

Those I deemed changed into my kin,

Friend Zarathustra has come, the guest of guests!

Who lives so close to the stars

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

Your hope stayed strong:

Nothing but ghosts of friends!

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

My realm—what realm stretches further?

In the heights my table was set for you: —

But now alas! No arrow is dangerous

The feast of feasts:

Love once inscribed on it, the faded ones?

— My old friends! Now how pale you look!

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

Become a ghost who crosses glaciers?

I await friends, ready day and night

And my honey—who has tasted it? .....

O summer garden!

I compare it to parchment that the hand

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

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

Only he who changes remains akin to me.

O longing of youth that misunderstood itself!

I await friends, ready day and night,

To the grey yonder of the abyss?

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

Once you were young, now—you are younger!

O noon of life! Second time of youth!

Now we celebrate together, certain of victory,

Where no one lives, in desolate polar zones,

My bow is bent!

Wounded and stopped by his own victory?

Died in my mouth—

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

Am I another? A stranger to myself?

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