The Shroud

Death, I say, my heart is bowed
       Unto thine, O mother!
This red gown will make a shroud
       Good as any other.

(I, that would not wait to wear
       My own bridal things,
In a dress dark as my hair
       Made my answerings.

I, to-night, that till he came
       Could not, could not wait,
In a gown as bright as flame
       Held for them the gate.)

Death, I say, my heart is bowed
       Unto thine, O mother!
This red gown will make a shroud
       Good as any other.