438 THUS SPAKE ZARATHUSTRA, IV
Swoop down on lambs,
Head foremost, greedy,
Longing for lambs,
Angry with all lamb-souls,
In sore anger with whatever gazeth
Virtuous, sheep-like, with curly wool,
Stupid with the benevolence of lamb's milk !
Thus,
Like eagles, like panthers,
Are the poet's longings,
Are thy longings under a thousand masks,
Thou fool ! Thou poet !
Who sawest man As a God and a sheep, To tear the God in man, Like the sheep in man, And to laugh in tearing.
That, that is thy bliss, A panther's and an eagle's bliss, A poet's and a fool's bliss ! When the air hath become clear, And the sickle of the moon, Green between purple reds And envious stealeth along, An enemy unto day, Sweeping her sickle secretly
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