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Thomas Hardy (1840–1928). Wessex Poems and Other Verses. 1898.

9. She, At His Funeral

THEY bear him to his resting-place—

In slow procession sweeping by;

I follow at a stranger’s space;

His kindred they, his sweetheart I.

Unchanged my gown of garish dye,

Though sable-sad is their attire;

But they stand round with griefless eye,

Whilst my regret consumes like fire!