Forsooth, there is a lake in me, sequestered and self-sufficing; but the stream of my love beareth this along with it, down — to the sea!
New paths do I tread, a new speech comes to me; tired have I become — like all creators — of the old tongues. No longer will my spirit walk on worn-out soles.
Too slowly runs all speaking for me: — into thy chariot, O storm, do I leap! And even you will I whip with my spite!
Like a cry and an huzza will I traverse wide seas, till I find the Happy Isles where my friends sojourn; —
And mine enemies amongst them! How I now love every one to whom I may but speak! Even my enemies pertain to my bliss.
And when I want to mount my wildest horse, then does my spear always help me up best: it is my foot's ever ready servant:-
The spear which I hurl at my enemies! How grateful am I to my enemies that I may at last hurl it!
Too great has been the tension of my cloud: 'twixt laughters of lightnings will I cast hail-showers into the depths.
Violently will my breast then heave; violently will it blow its storm over the mountains: thus comes its assuagement.
Like a storm comes my happiness, and my freedom! But my enemies shall think that the evil one roars over their heads.
Yes, you also, my friends, will be alarmed by my wild wisdom; and perhaps you will flee therefrom, along with my enemies.
Ah, that I knew how to lure you back with shepherds' flutes! Ah, that my lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly! And much have we already learned with one another!
My wild wisdom became pregnant on the lonesome moun-
