Whatever's going on the planet,
Which always craved for new domain,
What a new fashion else were settled
By gods of war for killing men, -

As in the age of Homer, sightless,
Again a vine breeds fruits for wine,
Flame of a rose, noise of grasses -
All as it was in former time.

As yore, death calls for dejection,
And birth - for happiness to thrive.
And so freshly in old fashion
Craves soul for the endless life!