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!
