Luyện nghe bài hát Nietzsche

I through a land of men,
A of men and women too,
And and saw such dreadful things
As cold wanderers never knew.

For there the babe is in joy
That was in dire woe,
Just as we reap in joy the
Which we in bitter tears did

And if the is born a boy
He's to a woman old,
Who nails him upon a rock,
Catches his shrieks in of gold.

She binds thorns around his head,
And pierces his hands and feet,
And cuts his out of his side
To make it feel cold & heat.

Her fingers number every
as a miser counts his gold;
She lives upon his shrieks and
And she young as he grows old,

he becomes a bleeding youth
And she becomes a bright;
Then he rends up his
And her down for his delight.

He plants himself in all her
Just as a his mould,
And she bcomes his
And garden, seventyfold.

An shadow soon he fades,
Wandering and earthly cot,
Full all with gems and gold
Which he by had got.

And these are the gems of the soul:
The and pearls of a lovesick eye,
The countless of an aching heart,
The martyr's groan, and the sigh.

They are his meat, are his drink:
He feeds the beggar and the
And the traveller;
For ever is his door.

His grief is eternal joy,
They make the and walls to ring—
from the fire on the hearth
Alittle babe does spring!

And she is all of fire
And and gold, that none his hand
Dares stretch to her baby form,
Or her in his swaddling-band.

But she to the man she loves,
If or old, or rich or poor;
soon drive out the aged host,
A beggar at door.

He weeping far away
Until some take him in;
Oft and age-bent, sore distressed,
Until he can a win.

And to his freezing age
The poor man her in his arms:
The cottage fades his sight,
The garden and its charms;

The guests are through the land
(For the eye altering, all);
The senses roll in fear,
And the earth becomes a ball,

The stars, sun, moon, all shrink
A desert vast a bound,
And left to eat or drink
And a dark all around.

The honey of her lips,
The and wine of her sweet smile,
The game of her roving eye
Does him to beguile.

For as he eats and drinks he
Younger and younger every
And on the desert wild both
in terror and dismay.

Like the wild she flees away;
Her fear plants a thicket wild,
While he her night and day,
By arts of love beguiled.

By various of love and hate,
Till the wide planted o'er
With of wayward love,
roams the lion, wolf and boar,

Till he a wayward babe
And she a woman old.
Then many a lover here,
The sun and stars are rolled,

The trees forth sweet ecstasy
To all who in the roam,
Till many a there is built,
And many a shepherd's home.

But they find the frowning babe
Terror strikes through the region
cry, 'The Babe! the Babe is born!'
And flee on every side.

For who dare touch the form
His arm is to its root,
Lions, boars, wolves, all howling
And every tree does shed its

And none can touch that form,
Except it be a woman
She nails him down the rock,
And all is done as I have