An Unquiet Grave

For all the mad housewives who weren’t

The wind doth blow today, my love,

And a few small drops of rain;

I never had but one true-love;

In cold grave she was lain.

I’ll do as much for my true-love

As any young man may;

I’ll sit and mourn all at her grave

For a twelvemonth and a day.

The twelvemonth and a day being up,

The dead began to speak:

‘Oh who sits weeping on my grave,

and will not let me sleep?’

— The Unquiet Grave, Arthur Quiller-Couch