3666238Wessex Poems and Other Verses — She1899Thomas Hardy
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!
