Verily ye deceive, ye “contemplative ones!” Even Zarathustra was once the dupe of your godlike exterior; he did not divine the serpent’s coil with which it was stuffed.

A God’s soul, I once thought I saw playing in your games, ye pure discerners! No better arts did I once dream of than your arts!

Serpents’ filth and evil odour, the distance concealed from me: and that a lizard’s craft prowled thereabouts lasciviously.

But I came nigh unto you: then came to me the day⁠—and now cometh it to you⁠—at an end is the moon’s love affair!

See there! Surprised and pale doth it stand⁠—before the rosy dawn!