Mark how our shadow, Mark Movits mom 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 adobe 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 quiristers 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
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