Luyện nghe bài hát Nietzsche

I travelled a land of men,
A land of men and too,
And heard and saw such dreadful
As cold wanderers never knew.

For there the is born in joy
was begotten in dire woe,
Just as we in joy the fruit
Which we in bitter did sow;

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

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

Her fingers number every
Just as a miser his gold;
She upon his shrieks and cries—
And she grows as he grows old,

Till he becomes a youth
And she a virgin bright;
he rends up his manacles
And pins her 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,
round and earthly cot,
Full filled all with and gold
Which he by had got.

And these are the gems of the human
The rubies and pearls of a eye,
The gold of an aching heart,
The groan, and the lover's sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The are scattered 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 nothing to eat or drink
And a desert all around.

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

For as he eats and he grows
Younger and younger day;
And on the desert wild both
in terror and dismay.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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