47-2 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV
wanteth to die ! ' thou sayest. Be the vine-knife blessed, blessed ! But all that is unripe, wanteth to live ! Alas !
Saith woe : ' Pass, go ! Away, thou woe ! ' But everything that suffereth wanteth to live in order to become ripe and gay and longing,
Longing for what is more distant, higher, brighter. 'I want heirs,' thus saith everything that suffereth, ' I want children, I want not myself?
But delight wanteth not heirs, not children. Delight wanteth itself, wanteth eternity, wanteth recurrence, wanteth everything to be eternally equal unto itself.
Saith woe : ' Break, bleed, heart ! Walk, leg ! Wing, fly! Up! Upward! Pain!' Up! Up! Oh, mine old heart ! Saith woe : ' Pass, go ! '
Ye higher men, what appeareth unto you ? Am I a prophet ? A dreamer ? A drunken one ? An inter- preter of dreams ? A midnight-bell ?
A drop of dew ? A smell and odour of eternity ? Hear ye not ? Smell ye not ? This moment hath my world become perfect. Midnight is noon also !
Pain is a delight also ! Curse is a blessing also. Night is a sun also. Go off! Otherwise ye will learn : A wise man is a fool also.
Said ye ever Yea unto one delight ? O my