Mark how our shadow, mark Movits mon fre're
   one small darkness encloses
   How gold and purple that shovel there
   to rags and rubbish disposes
   Charon beckons from tumultous waves
   then trice this ancient digger of graves
   for thee ne're grapeskin shall glister
   wherefore my Movits come help me to raise
   a gravestone over our sister
   Even deserous and modest abode
   under the sighing branches
   where time and death, a marriage forebode
   'twixt beauty and ugliness ashes
   To thee ne're jealousy findeth her way
   nor happiness footstep, swift to stray
   filleth amid these barrows
   e'en enmity armed, as thou seest this day
   piously breaketh her arrow
   The little bell echoes the great bells groan
   roved 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 blossoms
   fragments of mouldering briers
   till black-clad each mourner, his station assumes
   bows there deeply in tears