A Silent Foreboding के बोल

I shall have written to you of the black, Ere chants of pain with cries of woe are twined Foreboding ill in sullen bitterness, In death's dour hand will i have written then How words may smite when thoughts all bite amain, The sore body made more akin to corpse With loathsome stench amidst unlatched decay A prayer austere will i have woven then What long has lacked the strength of voice now rears, In spelling out makes secret poison stir A deathly strain, in coarse rags through it slumber, Bedecked with loam, grim fate metes out afresh So fierce a beast the cry appears anon, With wings outspread frail hope is wont to batter It may so be the tomb is far too precious: invitingly, its charms their hold bid tighten... In silence stern will i have penned it then, A brooding prayer composed of sacred woe Ere soul is risen to the folds of black And on my doorstep death vouchsafes to tread I will have written to you of the black, surreptitiously, nay, maliciously...