Konstantin Balmont

The sun would fail in the observant height,
In clear air, the shining stars would vanish,
The world would sink into a smoke lavish,
And thunders – into silence of the night, – 

On the sad moon, invisible and black – 
In its dark deeps – would rise the awful fire,
And by the tracks, lost in the Lethe’s mire,
Life would be gone without coming back, – 

A dust would lie instead of all these grasses, 
All nightingales would cut their loving plea,
All wars and funs would melt like snow masses, –     

With a deep sigh, would flee a spirit trustless,
It’d be the same – to be or not to be –
Sooner than I might cease remembering thee.


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, August, 2003