Fatal is the harsh blow
That cuts deepest the wounds
From which the blood doth flow
And wherein dark death blooms
Who halts to listen well
To the shrill, distant cry?
For whom doth aged bell
Toll its haunting reply?
Ghostly app\'rition stares
With vengeful malcontent.
Its horrid finger bares
Blame to its dark intent.
Haunted is the lost one
Who at death\'s door awaits.
Lo, the evil that\'s won;
It never dissipates.