ars? The angels themselves melt into tears through the
over-graciousness of thy smiling.

Thy graciousness and over-graciousness, is it which will not complain
and weep: and yet, O my soul, longeth thy smiling for tears, and thy
trembling mouth for sobs.

"Is not all weeping complaining? And all complaining, accusing?" Thus
speakest thou to thyself; and therefore, O my soul, wilt thou rather
smile than pour forth thy grief--

--Than in gushing tears pour forth all thy grief concerning thy
fulness, and concerning the craving of the vine for the vintager and
vintage-knife!

But wilt thou not weep, wilt thou not weep forth thy purple melancholy,
then wilt thou have to SING, O my soul!--Behold, I smile myself, who
foretell thee this:

--Thou wilt have to sing with passionate song, until all seas turn calm
to hearken unto thy longing,--

--Until over calm longing seas the bark glideth, the golden marvel,
around the gold of which all good, bad, and marvellous things frisk:--

--Also many large and small animals, and everything that hath light
marvellous feet, so that it can run on violet-blue paths,--

--Towards the golden marvel, the spontaneous bark, and its master: he,
however, is the vintager who waiteth with the diamond vintage-knife,--

--Thy great deliverer, O my soul, the nameless one--for whom future
songs only will find names! And verily, already hath thy breath the
fragrance of future songs,--

--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.

LIX. THE SECOND DANCE-SONG.

1.

"Into thine eyes gazed I lately, O Life: gold saw I gleam in thy
night-eyes,--my heart stood still with delight:

--A golden bark saw I gleam on darkened waters, a sinking, drinking,
reblinking, golden swing-bark!

At my dance-frantic foot, dost thou cast a glance, a laughing,
questioning, melting, thrown glance:

Twice only movedst thou thy rattle with thy little hands--then did my
feet swing with dance-fury.--

My heels reared aloft, my to