The Shroud
Death,I say, my heart is bowedUnto thine,—O mother!This red gown will make a shroudGood as any other!(I, that would not wait to wearMy own bridal things,In a dress dark as my hairMade my answerings.I, to-night, that till he cameCould not, could not wait,In a gown as bright as flameHeld for them the gate.)Death, I say, my heart is bowedUnto thine,—O mother!This red gown will make a shroudGood as any other!
Death,I say, my heart is bowedUnto thine,—O mother!This red gown will make a shroudGood as any other!(I, that would not wait to wearMy own bridal things,In a dress dark as my hairMade my answerings.I, to-night, that till he cameCould not, could not wait,In a gown as bright as flameHeld for them the gate.)Death, I say, my heart is bowedUnto thine,—O mother!This red gown will make a shroudGood as any other!
Death,I say, my heart is bowedUnto thine,—O mother!This red gown will make a shroudGood as any other!
(I, that would not wait to wearMy own bridal things,In a dress dark as my hairMade my answerings.
I, to-night, that till he cameCould not, could not wait,In a gown as bright as flameHeld for them the gate.)
Death, I say, my heart is bowedUnto thine,—O mother!This red gown will make a shroudGood as any other!