Hic Jacet

I made your bed 'neath the Osage tree,
Where you might lie and dream with me--
With a blanket of cloud, neath a coverlet blue,
With a tear in the piece, where a star pricked thru.
By the side of the lake where the white swans sail,
And the brown leaves fall in the autumn gale,
Serene we shall lie in our mossy beds;
While sun and shadow pass over our heads,
Thankful for rest to God above,
For the lives that we lived and the love that we love.

^__Louisa Cooke Don-Carlos.