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.

"

— Konstantin Balmont (1867-1942)