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Flower o' the thorn

A book of wayside verse: By John Payne

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FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


130

FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE.

NIETZSCHE, I love thee not; thine every page
With insults to my Gods my teeth doth set
On edge and flouts my fondest faiths: and yet,
For all thy querulous quips, thy crackbrain rage
'Gainst many a well-graced actor on Life's stage,
For this at least I own me in thy debt,
That 'gainst Democracy's soul-straitening net
And dragon's maw thou hast armed the maudlin age.
—Ay, and to me thy thought-awakening word
Is as the angel's coming, erst that stirred
Siloam's sluggish tide and brought to life
Its hidden healing virtues. Good or ill,
My soul it floods with fertilising strife
And makes me know myself and what I will.
Moreover, if of those who Sorrow's chain
For Thought's sake drag, a hero were to seek,
Pagan or Christian, Latin, Jew or Greek,
What one of all Earth's Paladins of Pain
Worthier the bays were than this sage unsane,
Who scorned to own himself of Fortune's wreak
Beaten and with life, a bark of many a leak,
Beneath him foundering, and reeling brain,
Still followed on his mighty monstrous dream
Of lessoning mankind to turn away
From the vain quest of Truth the ne'er-to-find
And Life accepting with an equal mind,
To fit their faith unto its things that seem
And make the most of its recurrent day?
 

Cf. Nietzsche's capital doctrine of the Eternal Recurrence of all things.