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!