The Joyful Wisdom (

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from myself if I could sit,

      Less distant than my enemy,

      And yet my nearest friend's too nigh—

      'Twixt him and me, just in the middle!

      What do I ask for? Guess my riddle!

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      My Cruelty.

      I must ascend an hundred stairs,

      I must ascend: the herd declares

      I'm cruel: "Are we made of stone?"

      I must ascend an hundred stairs:

      All men the part of stair disown.

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      The Wanderer.

      "No longer path! Abyss and silence chilling!"

      Thy fault! To leave the path thou wast too willing!

      Now comes the test! Keep cool—eyes bright and clear!

      Thou'rt lost for sure, if thou permittest—fear.

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      Encouragement for Beginners.

      See the infant, helpless creeping—

      Swine around it grunt swine-talk—

      Weeping always, naught but weeping,

      Will it ever learn to walk?

      Never fear! Just wait, I swear it

      Soon to dance will be inclined,

      And this babe, when two legs bear it,

      Standing on its head you'll find.

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      Planet Egoism.

      Did I not turn, a rolling cask,

      Ever about myself, I ask,

      How could I without burning run

      Close on the track of the hot sun?

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      The Neighbour.

      Too nigh, my friend my joy doth mar,

      I'd have him high above and far,

      Or how can he become my star?

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      The Disguised Saint.

      Lest we for thy bliss should slay thee,

      In devil's wiles thou dost array thee,

      Devil's wit and devil's dress.

      But in vain! Thy looks betray thee

      And proclaim thy holiness.

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      The Slave.

      A. He stands and listens: whence his pain?

      What smote his ears? Some far refrain?

      Why is his heart with anguish torn?

      B. Like all that fetters once have worn,

      He always hears the clinking—chain!

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      The Lone One.

      I hate to follow and I hate to lead.

      Obedience? no! and ruling? no, indeed!

      Wouldst fearful be in others' sight?

      Then e'en thyself thou must affright:

      The people but the Terror's guidance heed.

      I hate to guide myself, I hate the fray.

      Like the wild beasts I'll wander far afield.

      In Error's pleasing toils I'll roam

      Awhile, then lure myself back home,

      Back home, and—to my self-seduction yield.

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      Seneca et hoc Genus omne.

      They write and write (quite maddening me)

      Their "sapient" twaddle airy,

      As if 'twere primum scribere,

      Deinde philosophari.

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      Ice.

      Yes! I manufacture ice:

      Ice may help you to digest:

      If you had much to digest,

      How you would enjoy my ice!

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      Youthful Writings.

      My wisdom's A and final O

      Was then the sound that smote mine ear.

      Yet now it rings no longer so,

      My youth's eternal Ah! and Oh!

      Is now the only sound I hear.[4]

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      Foresight.

      In yonder region travelling, take good care!

      An hast thou wit, then be thou doubly ware!

      They'll smile and lure thee; then thy limbs they'll tear:

      Fanatics' country

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