Nietzsche
"Such mighty music from a single soul!
Ah, Wagner, you were superman until
Religion made your song effeminate.
Who can forgive your cowering 'Parsifal'!"
The old man's hands fell on piano keys,
But not into a chord. He saw the book
And touched it gently as he would a child,
And said, " You know I, too wrote good books once."
A worm of youth was gnawing in his brain,
Was eating up his passion's time and form,
Was spreading through his vision's final space
Its poisonous rest, its waste--oblivion.
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