Buried To-Day by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Cold is the wind, that blows up from the river. / Cold is the blast that sweeps over the plain. / In the bleak breath of the morning, I shiver -- / Shiver and weep, in my desolate pain. / She was so fair -- like the beautiful lily -- / Fair, oh too fair to be hidden away. / And the grave is so dark, and so damp, and so chilly, / And she -- oh my love! -- will be buried to-day.

White is the snow that is heaped on the meadow, / Whiter the face, in this desolate room. / Low in the valley lurk darkness and shadow -- / Low lies my heart, in its sorrow and gloom. / How the spades scrape, on the sods they are breaking, / Breaking, and cutting the snowdrifts away. / How the men bend to the grave they are making, / Where she -- oh my love! -- will be buried to-day.