and shut her eyes. 'Say, of whom dost thou speak? Is it of me?
Suppose thou wert right,—doth one say that thus into my face! But now speak of thy wisdom also!'
Oh! and now thou openedst again thine eye, O beloved life! And I seemed again unto myself to sink into what is impenetrable."
Thus sang Zarathustra. But when the dance was finished and the girls had departed, sad he grew.
"The sun hath gone down long ago," he said at last; "the meadow is damp, and coolness ariseth from the forests.
An unknown something hovereth round me and gazeth in deep thought. What? Thou livest still, Zarathustra?
Why? Wherefore? Wherethrough? Whither? Where? How? Is it not folly still to live?
Alas! my friends, it is the evening that thus out of myself asketh. Forgive me my sadness!
Evening it hath become. Forgive me that it hath become evening!"
Thus spake Zarathustra.
