Too long have I stood silent in the cackle of my followers. Poultry after my corn! I have said, “Dost thou seek to multiply thyself? Find ciphers!” I will give you a new law:—Love your enemy, for him ye may destroy. Fear your friend, for he shall steal your raiment. Dost thou think that my aloofness is thy aloofness? Dost thou flutter upon a ridgepole because I stand upon a mountain? Fool, thou shalt starve unless thou peck the earth. I say unto the preacher: Stick to the Nazarene; he hath deserved his Golgotha. But who shall make my words a law for me? I say unto the woman: My scourge is yet upon thee. Dost thou set thyself against myself? I shall ravish thee when I desire thee. Who art thou to pretend manhood? Submit or deny thy life. Serve, or go barren into the earth. I say unto the poor and lowly: I denied you my pity; now ye think to rob me of my scorn. Paltry ones! Shall I deny myself because of you? Lo, if I delight in riches, I shall take them. My life is not your life; my children are not your children. Cry not at my oppression; ye shall not move me. And if ye mock me with my own words, they shall scorch your tongues; ye shall go to a blacker oppression, ye shall find harder masters—yourselves! And I say unto the priest, the woman, and the lowly: Touch me not; ye are my enemies! I have declared myself, and ye have not known me. I am life, I am splendor, I am eternity. Ye deny me as ye lay your hands upon me. Remain afar off; then may I be in you. I will keep you slaves; thus only shall I live. _Also sprach Zarathustra!_ Poems DAPHNE CARR Welt Schmertz I have crushed so many roses That my hands Drip with red fragrance. But I would crush to death against my breast The wind That is raging drunk with the perfume of all flowers. I have bathed in a hundred cool springs— Still I am burning. I would plunge into the ocean, Diving down and down To find myself Freshly fluid As a wave. Prisoners A wind runs through the room, And leaps out of the window. The white curtain springs after Fluttering out. But it is fastened tight inside. My love kisses me And goes Waving good-bye And laughing. Am I also held fast in this room? Leo Ornstein MARGARET C. ANDERSON Nietzsche thought Wagner was the artist of decadence; Arthur Symons thinks he was a unique genius. Nietzsche regarded him as the great corrupter of music:—“he has made music sick”; Symons says that to find a parallel for Wagner’s achievement we must look back to the Greeks, to the age of Æschylus and Sophocles. Each one proved his point. It’s a bit confusing, and you begin to wonder what Art is.