Ecce Homo Complete Works, Volume Seventeen · Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
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This fame, which all the wide world loves, I touch with gloves, And scorning beat Beneath my feet. * * * * Who hanker after the pay of it? Who cast themselves in the way of it? These prostitutes to gold, These merchant folk. They fold Their unctuous palms over the jingling fame, Whose ringing chink wins all the world's acclaim. * * * * Hast thou the lust to buy? It needs no skill. They are all venal. Let thy purse be deep, And let their greedy paws unhindered creep Into its depths. So let them take their fill, For if thou dost not offer them enough, Their "virtue" they'll parade, to hide their huff. * * * * They are all virtuous, yea every one. Virtue and fame are ever in accord So long as time doth run, The tongues that prate of virtue as reward Earn fame. For virtue is fame's clever bawd. * * * * Amongst these virtuous, I prefer to be One guilty of all vile and horrid sin! And when I see fame's importunity So advertise her shameless harlotry, Ambition turns to gall. Amidst such kin One place alone, the lowest, would I win. * * * * This fame, which all the wide world loves, I touch with gloves, And scorning beat Beneath my feet. Hush! I see vastness!--and of vasty things Shall man be dumb, unless he can enshrine Them with his words? Then take the might which brings The heart upon thy tongue, charmed wisdom mine! * * * * I look above, there rolls the star-strown sea. O night, mute silence, voiceless cry of stars! And lo! A sign! The heaven its verge unbars-- A shining constellation falls towards me.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.