Epistle No 81 Lyrics

Epistle No 81 lyrics

Mark how our shadow, Mark Movits, mon frere 

One small darkness encloses 

How gold and purple that shovel there 

To rags and rubbish disposes 



Charon beckons from tumultuous waves 

Then trice this ancient digger of graves 

For thee ne'er grapeskin shall glister 

Wherefore my Movits come help me to raise 

A gravestone over our sister 



Even desirous and modest abode 

Under the sighing branches 

Where time and death, a marriage forebode 

Twixt beauty and ugliness ashes 



To thee ne'er jealousy findeth her way 

Nor happiness footstep, swift to stray 

Flitteth amid these barrows 

E'en enmity armed, as thou seest this day 

Piously breaketh her arrow 



The little bell echoes the great bells groan 

Robed in the door the precentor 

Noisome with quirsters prayerful moan 

Blesses those who enter



The way to this templed city of tombs 

Climbs amid roses yellowing blooms 

Fragments of mouldering biers 

Till black-clad each mourner his station assumes 

Bows there deeply in tears