Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok (28 November 1880 – 7 August 1921 / Saint Petersburg)
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.
Comments about this poem (All Perished, All! by Aleksandr Aleksandrovich Blok )
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