To you the enigma-intoxicated, the twilight-enjoyers, whose souls are allured by flutes to every treacherous gulf:

—For ye dislike to grope at a thread with cowardly hand; and where ye can divine , there do ye hate to calculate ⁠—

To you only do I tell the enigma that I saw ⁠—the vision of the lonesomest one.⁠—

Gloomily walked I lately in corpse-coloured twilight⁠—gloomily and sternly, with compressed lips. Not only one sun had set for me.

A path which ascended daringly among boulders, an evil, lonesome path, which neither herb nor shrub any longer cheered, a mountain-path, crunched under the daring of my foot.