One that stands upright no more! Thou wilt grow deformed even in thy grave, Deformed spirit! And of late still so proud On all the stilts of thy pride! Of late still the godless hermit, The hermit with one comrade—the devil, The scarlet prince of every devilment!... Now— Between two nothings Huddled up, A question-mark, A weary riddle, A riddle for vultures.... They will "solve" thee, They hunger already for thy "solution," They flutter already about their "riddle," About thee, the doomed one! O Zarathustra, Self-knower!
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EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY
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