The Other Dance Song

1

“Into your eye I looked not long ago, O life: gold I saw gleaming in your night-eye—my heart stood still with this lust:

“—a golden boat I saw gleaming on mighty waters, a sinking, drinking, ever again winking golden rocking boat!

“At my foot, my dance-mad foot, you cast a glance, a laughing, questioning, melting, rocking glance:

“Only twice you stirred your rattle with little hands—and already my foot was rocking with dance-madness.—

“My heels reared up, my toes listened to understand you: for the dancer wears his ear—in his toes!

“Toward you I leaped: then you fled back from my leap; and the tongue of your fleeing, flying hair licked out against me!

“Away from you I leaped, and from your snakes: there you already stood, half turned, your eye full of yearning.

“With crooked glances—you teach me crooked ways; on crooked ways my foot learns—tricks!

“I fear you near, I love you far; your flight lures me, your seeking stops me:—I suffer, but what have I not gladly suffered for you!

“You whose coldness kindles, whose hatred seduces, whose flight binds, whose mockery—moves:

“—who would not hate you, you great binder, entwiner, temptress, seeker, finder! Who would not love you, you innocent, impatient, wind-swift, child-eyed sinner!

“Where are you pulling me now, you paragon and unbridled one? And now you flee me again, you sweet wild thing and ingrate!

“I dance after you, I follow you even on a faint trace. Where are you? Give me your hand! Or just one finger!

“Here are caves and thickets: we shall go astray!—Stop! Stand still! Do you not see owls and bats whirring?

“You owl! You bat! You want to make a fool of me? Where are we? From the dogs you learned this howling and yapping.

“You bare your little white teeth at me sweetly, your wicked eyes leap at me out of your curly little mane!

“This is a dance over stick and stone: I am the hunter—will you be my dog or my chamois?

“Now beside me! And quickly, you malicious leaper! Now up! And over!—Woe! I myself fell down as I leaped!

“Oh, see me lying here, you high spirits, and begging for grace! Gladly would I walk with you—along lovelier paths!

“—love’s paths through still, many-colored bushes! Or there along the lake: goldfish swim and dance there!

“You are tired now? Over there are sheep and sunsets: is it not lovely to sleep when shepherds play their flutes?

“You are so terribly tired? I will carry you there, just let your arms sink! And if you are thirsty—I might have something, but your mouth does not want to drink it!—

“—Oh, this cursed, nimble, supple snake and slippery witch! Where have you gone? But on my face I feel two spots and red blotches from your hand!

“I am truly weary of always being your sheepish shepherd! You witch, if until now I have sung to you, now you shall—scream for me!

“To the beat of my whip you shall dance and scream for me! I did not forget the whip, did I?—No!”—

2

Then life answered me thus, and as she did so she held her dainty ears shut:

“O Zarathustra! Do not crack your whip so frightfully! You know, after all: noise murders thoughts—and just now such tender thoughts are coming to me.

“We are both of us real do-no-goods and do-no-evils. Beyond good and evil we found our island and our green meadow—we two alone! That is why we must be good to each other!

“And even if we do not love each other from the ground up—must people bear each other a grudge if they do not love each other from the ground up?

“And that I am good to you, and often too good, you know: and the reason is that I am jealous of your wisdom. Ah, this mad old fool of a woman, wisdom!

“If your wisdom ever ran away from you, ah! then my love would quickly run away from you too.”—

Then life looked thoughtfully behind her and around her and said softly: “O Zarathustra, you are not faithful enough to me!

“You do not love me nearly as much as you say; I know you are thinking of leaving me soon.

“There is an old, heavy, heavy droning bell: it drones at night all the way up to your cave:—

“—when you hear this bell strike the hour at midnight, then between one and twelve you think of it—

“—you think of it, O Zarathustra, I know it, that you want to leave me soon!”—

“Yes,” I answered hesitantly, “but you know this too—” And I said something into her ear, right in among her tangled, yellow, foolish tufts of hair.

You know that, O Zarathustra? No one knows that.—

And we looked at each other and gazed at the green meadow, over which the cool evening was just then running, and we wept together.—But at that time life was dearer to me than all my wisdom ever was.—

Thus spoke Zarathustra.

3

One!
O human! Take heed!
Two!
What does the deep midnight say?
Three!
“I slept, I slept—,”
Four!
“From a deep dream I have awoken:—”
Five!
“The world is deep,”
Six!
“And deeper than conceived by day.”
Seven!
“Deep is its woe—,”
Eight!
“Joy—deeper still than heart’s misery:”
Nine!
“Woe says: Begone!”
Ten!
“But all joy wants eternity—,”
Eleven!
“—wants deep, deep eternity!”
Twelve!