For the sake of the child she has left behind?
To mock them (they say) makes the dead ones grieve,
Let's see if I cannot her work relieve,
Or she no end to her toil may find."
So spake he, when something, with movement slow,
Stirs in the deep-dug grave below,
And in its trailing shroud comes out;
And the little garments that infants have
It hangs and stretches on gate and grave,
On rail and trellis, the yard about.