Who warm'th me, who lov'th me still? Give ardent fingers! Give hearten… — Thus Spake Zarathustra
SAPIR 861
Who warm'th me, who lov'th me still? Give ardent fingers! Give heartening charcoal-warmers! Prone, outstretched, trembling, Like him, half dead and cold, whose feet one warm'th-- And shaken, ah! by unfamiliar fevers, Shivering with sharpened, icy-cold frost-arrows, By thee pursued, my fancy! Ineffable! Recondite! Sore-frightening! Thou huntsman 'hind the cloud-banks! Now lightning-struck by thee, Thou mocking eye that me in darkness watcheth: --Thus do I lie, Bend myself, twist myself, convulsed With all eternal torture, And smitten By thee, cruellest huntsman, Thou unfamiliar--GOD...
Open Scriptures Hebrew Bible (WLC), CC BY 4.0