“No—not where I shall make my own;

   But dig his grave just by

The 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 dream

   I did a husband win.”

“Widow, your wish shall be obeyed;

   Though, thought I, certainly

You’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 here

   Eschews that ancient way . . .

And it may be, some Christmas night,

   When angels walk, they’ll say:

“‘O strange interment!  Civilized lands

   Afford few types thereof;

Here is a man who takes his rest

   Beside his very Love,

Beside the one who was his wife

   In our sight up above!’”