SECOND PART.
23. XXIII. THE CHILD WITH THE MIRROR. (continued)
Too great hath been the tension of my cloud: 'twixt laughters of
lightnings will I cast hail-showers into the depths.
Violently will my breast then heave; violently will it blow its storm over
the mountains: thus cometh its assuagement.
Verily, like a storm cometh my happiness, and my freedom! But mine enemies
shall think that THE EVIL ONE roareth over their heads.
Yea, ye also, my friends, will be alarmed by my wild wisdom; and perhaps ye
will flee therefrom, along with mine enemies.
Ah, that I knew how to lure you back with shepherds' flutes! Ah, that my
lioness wisdom would learn to roar softly! And much have we already
learned with one another!
My wild wisdom became pregnant on the lonesome mountains; on the rough
stones did she bear the youngest of her young.
Now runneth she foolishly in the arid wilderness, and seeketh and seeketh
the soft sward--mine old, wild wisdom!
On the soft sward of your hearts, my friends!--on your love, would she fain
couch her dearest one!--
Thus spake Zarathustra.
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