So Sad a Mourner Never Bent

So sad a mourner never bent
Against a marble monument
As, poorest of the paupers, she
On the damp grass who bends the knee
O'er her one lost; her words are few,
What shall I do! what shall I do!
Are all she says, but those aloud,
And pity moves the silent crowd.
She rises . . she must carry back
The lent and oft darn'd gown of black.