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.