—Already glowest thou and dreamest, already drinkest thou thirstily at all deep echoing wells of consolation, already reposeth thy melancholy in the bliss of future songs!⁠⸺

O my soul, now have I given thee all, and even my last possession, and all my hands have become empty by thee:⁠— that I bade thee sing , behold, that was my last thing to give!

That I bade thee sing⁠—say now, say: which of us now⁠—oweth thanks?⁠—Better still, however: sing unto me, sing, O my soul! And let me thank thee!⁠—

Thus spake Zarathustra.