And she loved me a little, I think, although it didn’t last;
But I mustn’t think of these things—I’ve buried ’em in the past.
I’ll take my hard words back, nor make a bad matter worse;
She’ll have trouble enough; she shall not have my curse;
But I’ll live a life so square—and I well know that I can,—
That she always will sorry be that she went with that han’somer man.
Ah, here is her kitchen dress! it makes my poor eyes blur;
It seems when I look at that, as if ’twas holdin’ her.
And here are her week-day shoes, and there is her week-day hat,
And yonder’s her weddin’ gown; I wonder she didn’t take that.