Ecce Homo Complete Works, Volume Seventeen · Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche
IN LONESOMENESS[9]
The cawing crows Townwards on whirring pinions roam; Soon come the snows-- Thrice happy now who hath a home! Fast-rooted there, Thou gazest backwards--oh, how long! Thou fool, why dare Ere winter come, this world of wrong? This world--a gate To myriad deserts dumb and hoar! Who lost through fate What thou hast lost, shall rest no more. Now stand'st thou pale, A frozen pilgrimage thy doom, Like smoke whose trail Cold and still colder skies consume. Fly, bird, and screech, Like desert-fowl, thy song apart! Hide out of reach, Fool! in grim ice thy bleeding heart. Firmly let us plant our feet, Ne'er can we give up this game-- From the distance what doth greet? One death, one happiness, one fame. The cawing crows Townwards on whirring pinions roam: Soon come the snows-- Woe unto him who hath no home! _My Answer_ The man presumes-- Good Lord!--to think that I'd return To those warm rooms Where snug the German ovens burn My friend, you see 'Tis but thy folly drives me far,-- Pity for _thee_ And all that German blockheads are!
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.