Her Late Husband
“No—not where I shall make my own;But dig his grave just byThe woman’s with the initialed stone—As near as he can lie—After whose death he seemed to ail,Though none considered why.
“And when I also claim a nook,And your feet tread me in,Bestow me, under my old name,Among my kith and kin,That strangers gazing may not dreamI did a husband win.”
“Widow, your wish shall be obeyed;Though, thought I, certainlyYou’d lay him where your folk are laid,And your grave, too, will be,As custom hath it; you to right,And on the left hand he.”
“Aye, sexton; such the Hintock rule,And none has said it nay;But now it haps a native hereEschews that ancient way . . .And it may be, some Christmas night,When angels walk, they’ll say:
“‘O strange interment! Civilized landsAfford few types thereof;Here is a man who takes his restBeside his very Love,Beside the one who was his wifeIn our sight up above!’”
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