“All our fountains have dried up, even the sea hath receded. All the ground trieth to gape, but the depth will not swallow!

“ ‘Alas! where is there still a sea in which one could be drowned?’ so soundeth our plaint⁠—across shallow swamps.

“Verily, even for dying have we become too weary; now do we keep awake and live on⁠—in sepulchres.”

Thus did Zarathustra hear a soothsayer speak; and the foreboding touched his heart and transformed him. Sorrowfully did he go about and wearily; and he became like unto those of whom the soothsayer had spoken.⁠—

Verily, said he unto his disciples, a little while, and there cometh the long twilight. Alas, how shall I preserve my light through it!

That it may not smother in this sorrowfulness! To remoter worlds shall it be a light, and also to remotest nights!