Luyện nghe bài hát Epistle No. 81

Mark how our shadow, Movits mon fre're
one darkness encloses
How gold and that shovel there
to and rubbish disposes
Charon from tumultous waves
then trice this digger of graves
for thee ne're shall glister
my Movits come help me to raise
a gravestone over our
Even and modest abode
under the branches
where and death, a marriage forebode
'twixt and ugliness ashes
To ne're jealousy findeth her way
nor happiness footstep, to stray
filleth these barrows
e'en enmity armed, as thou this day
piously her arrow
The little bell the great bells groan
roved in the the precentor
with quiristers prayerful moan
blesses those, who
The way to templed city of tombs
climbs roses yellowing blossoms
of mouldering briers
till black-clad mourner, his station assumes
bows there deeply in