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 rags and rubbish
beckons from tumultous waves
then trice this ancient digger of
for thee ne're grapeskin shall
wherefore my come help me to raise
a gravestone over our
Even and modest abode
under the sighing
where time and death, a marriage
beauty and ugliness ashes
To thee ne're findeth her way
nor footstep, swift to stray
filleth amid these
enmity armed, as thou seest this day
piously breaketh her
The little echoes the great bells groan
roved in the the precentor
noisome with quiristers prayerful
those, who enter
The way to templed city of tombs
climbs roses yellowing blossoms
fragments of briers
till black-clad mourner, his station assumes
bows there in tears