Epistle no. 81

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...

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...