As My Fame Redounds

I met a woman who made crazy sounds:
A train, a four-horse wagon, a bass drum,
And prayers that called all sinners to come:
"Now praise the Lord!" We wandered through the grounds,
Avoiding both the sinners and the hounds.
Her true name may have been known to some,
But never reached my ears. Only a hum
Plays quietly, just as my fame redounds.

I thought music would be my epitaph,
But my outsized ambition was aborted
By the unknown woman I escorted:
I asked her, "Did you want my autograph?"
She answered merrily, "You make me laugh."
"Is that a good thing?" I inquired. She snorted.