his solitude, and
thought of good things--for hours. About the hour of noontide, however,
when the sun stood exactly over Zarathustra's head, he passed an old,
bent and gnarled tree, which was encircled round by the ardent love of
a vine, and hidden from itself; from this there hung yellow grapes in
abundance, confronting the wanderer. Then he felt inclined to quench a
little thirst, and to break off for himself a cluster of grapes. When,
however, he had already his arm out-stretched for that purpose, he felt
still more inclined for something else--namely, to lie down beside the
tree at the hour of perfect noontide and sleep.

This Zarathustra did; and no sooner had he laid himself on the ground in
the stillness and secrecy of the variegated grass, than he had forgotten
his little thirst, and fell asleep. For as the proverb of Zarathustra
saith: "One thing is more necessary than the other." Only that his eyes
remained open:--for they never grew weary of viewing and admiring the
tree and the love of the vine. In falling asleep, however, Zarathustra
spake thus to his heart:

"Hush! Hush! Hath not the world now become perfect? What hath happened
unto me?

As a delicate wind danceth invisibly upon parqueted seas, light,
feather-light, so--danceth sleep upon me.

No eye doth it close to me, it leaveth my soul awake. Light is it,
verily, feather-light.

It persuadeth me, I know not how, it toucheth me inwardly with a
caressing hand, it constraineth me. Yea, it constraineth me, so that my
soul stretcheth itself out:--

--How long and weary it becometh, my strange soul! Hath a seventh-day
evening come to it precisely at noontide? Hath it already wandered too
long, blissfully, among good and ripe things?

It stretcheth itself out, long--longer! it lieth still, my strange
soul. Too many good things hath it already tasted; this golden sadness
oppresseth it, it distorteth its mouth.

--As a ship that putteth into the calmest cove:--it now draweth up to
the land, weary of long voyages and uncertain seas. Is not the land more
faithful?

As such a ship huggeth the shore, tuggeth the shore:--then it sufficeth
for a spider to spin its thread from the ship to the land. No stronger
ropes are required there.

As such a weary ship in the calmest cove, so do I also now repose, nigh
to the earth, faithful, trusting, waiting, bound to it with the lightest
threads.

O happiness! O happiness! Wilt thou perhaps sing, O my soul? Tho