Cynthia Gooding's George Collins, I believe it was from Faithful Lovers And Other Phenomena:

George Collins rode out one wintry night, he rode through sleet and snow
George Collins rode out one wintry night, was taken sick, and died
His own true love Mary was in her room, dressed in silks so fine
When she found out that George was dead, she laid them all aside

She followed him up, she followed him down, she followed him to his grave
And there upon the cold, cold stone, she wept, she mourned, she prayed
"Put down that casket, unscrew that lid, turn back that shroud so fine
That I might kiss his cold, cold lips, for I'm sure he'll never kiss mine."

"Little Mary, don't weep, little Mary, don't mourn, there's more young men than one
Oh but mother, dear mother, he was all I had, and now I'm left alone.
Do you see that yonder turtledove, fluttering from pine to pine?
She's mourning for her own lost love, so why not I for mine?