Luyện nghe bài hát Nietzsche

I travelled a land of men,
A of men and women too,
And heard and saw dreadful things
As cold earth wanderers knew.

For there the is born in joy
That was begotten in woe,
Just as we in joy the fruit
Which we in bitter tears did

And if the is born a boy
He's given to a old,
Who him down upon a rock,
Catches his in cups of gold.

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

Her fingers every nerve
Just as a miser counts his
She lives his shrieks and cries—
And she grows as he grows old,

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

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

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

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

are his meat, they are his drink:
He feeds the and the poor
And the wayfaring
For ever is his door.

His grief is their joy,
They make the roofs and walls to
Till from the on the hearth
Alittle female does spring!

And she is all of solid
And gems and gold, that his hand
Dares stretch to her baby form,
Or her in his swaddling-band.

But she to the man she loves,
If young or old, or or poor;
They drive out the aged host,
A at another's door.

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

And to allay his age
The poor man her in his arms:
The fades before his sight,
The and its lovely charms;

The are scattered through the land
(For the eye altering, all);
The senses themselves in fear,
And the flat earth a ball,

The stars, sun, moon, all away—
A desert without a bound,
And nothing left to eat or
And a dark all around.

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

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

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

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

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

The trees bring forth sweet
To all who in the roam,
many a city there is built,
And many a pleasant home.

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

For who dare touch the frowning
His arm is to its root,
Lions, boars, wolves, all flee
And tree does shed its fruit;

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