The Shroud

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

　　

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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!

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