“And the wheels go over my head,
And my bones are shaken with pain,
For into a shallow grave they are thrust,
Only a yard beneath the street;
And the hoofs of the horses beat, beat,
Beat into my scalp and my brain,
With never an end to the stream of passing feet.
* * * * * * *
“O, me! why have they not buried me deep enough?
Is it kind to have made me a grave so rough,