We drink from the cup of existence
With closed eyes,
Moistening the golden rims
With our own tears
But when before death, from our eyes
The band falls away,
And all that charmed us
Disappears with the band,
Then we see that empty
Was the golden cup,
That the drink in it was - a dream
And that it was not ours!
Michael Lermontov (1814-1841)