All Perished, All!

All perished, all! The sun, in flame and brilliance, As did it long before, the years' circle fulfils. A sorrow grave deplores the past existence - That was so beautiful - under the solemn hills. And in the black night a white specter-mist Waits other shades, the silent one and grievous. Oh, whitening shade, again you will obtain Crowds of others, lost of past, entire. A night will pass, come a long day again - Again will rise, in its self-scorching mire, Sun of the day, the sun of golden fire, And will again burn the sad hills and plain.