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Once upon a day in summer-time

I passed through a village. In a dreary line

On both sides of the winding narrow lane,

the houses stood there, grey, decayed.

Dancing silence of dark cloak

Makes the servants follow her.

Each of them will bring the clock,

So that we bear in mind the time.

Like old rags, dull and frowsty;

In the walls their windows staring blindly back,

And even the thatch itself was rotted black.

All was ruins, grown old.

Here death had come crawling,

Showing all shapes of despair,

Like a trickster laughing at swaggering men,

Reminding who holds master’s chair.

Once upon a night in summer-time

She took a clock and went in a dreary line.

On both sides of the winding narrow lane,

the houses stood there, grey, decayed.

She walks again, like thousand times

Before, in every human age,

Painting neighbors with dark stains,

Making people count for days.

Here death comes crawling,

Showing all shapes of despair,

Like a trickster laughing at swaggering men,

Reminding who holds master’s chair.

Dancing silence of dark cloak

Makes the servants follow her.

Each of them will bring the clock,

So that we bear in mind the time.