On the day the world ends

    A bee circles a clover，

    A fisherman mends a glimmering¹ net.

    Happy porpoises² jump in the sea，

    By the rainspout young sparrows are playing

    And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be.

    On the day the world ends

    Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas，

    A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn，

    Vegetable peddlers shout in the street

    And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island，

    The voice of a violin lasts in the air

    And leads into a starry³ night.

    And those who expected lightning and thunder

    Are disappointed.

    And those who expected signs and archangels' trumps⁴

    Do not believe it is happening now.

    As long as the sun and the moon are above，

    As long as the bumblebee visits a rose，

    As long as rosy⁵ infants are born

    No one believes it is happening now.

    Only a white-haired old man， who would be a prophet

    Yet is not a prophet， for he's much too busy，

    Repeats while he binds⁶ his tomatoes：

    No other end of the world will there be，

    No other end of the world will there be.

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