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AT NOON 405
When drinkest thou this drop of dew that hath fallen down on all things earthly? When drinkest thou this strange soul?
When, well of eternity ? Thou gay, shuddering abyss of noon ! When drinkest thou my soul back into thyself?"
Thus spake Zarathustra and arose from his resting- place nigh unto the tree, as from a strange drunken- ness. And behold ! there the sun still stood exactly above his head. And from that, some one might duly suppose that Zarathustra had not slept long. t
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