Here sat I waiting, waiting, but for naught!
Beyond all good and evil—now by light wrought
To joy, now by dark shadows—all was leisure,
All lake, all noon, all time sans aim, sans measure.
Then one, dear friend, was swiftly changed to twain,
And Zarathustra left my teeming brain. ...
This is a translation and has a separate copyright status from the original text. The license for the translation applies to this edition only.