The Sampler
A little church with steeple red,
A zigzag fence, a tree;
And in the corner, cross-stitched fine,
The words: “Remember me.”
O, little great-great Aunt Katrine,
Whose dust returned to dust
When only nine years old, we keep
Inviolate the trust,
And wonder as we gaze upon
The church, the fence, the tree,
If some faint presage stirred you when
You stitched: “Remember me.”