Thy ashes shall be scattered far and wide.
No circling rings shall break the sullen gloom
Of the dark pool that closes o’er thy head,
No widowed soul shall hover o’er thy tomb.
For the chaste secrets which thy soul hath wed,
With thee the pit shall bury them from view,
Fathoms below the deepest deep-sea lead.
Our Mother, Nature, hath her favorites too,
Like any other dame, spoiled children they;
Unwelcome waif, why should they share with you?