From timid eyes, From velvet shudders, Her glance meets mine, Sweet and wicked, a maiden's glance. She has guessed the reason of my happiness, She has guessed me—ha! what is she thinking? A purple dragon Lurks in the abyss of her maiden's glance. —Silence! My truth is speaking!— "Woe to thee, Zarathustra! Thou lookest like one That hath swallowed gold: They will slit up thy belly yet! Thou art too rich, Thou corrupter of many! Thou makest too many jealous, Too many poor.... Even on me thy light casts a shadow— I feel chill: go away, thou rich one Go away, Zarathustra, from the path of thy sun
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