She At His Funeral Poem by Thomas Hardy
She At His Funeral
Rating: ★3.0
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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!
Tuesday, December 31, 2002
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4/7/2025 4:29:34 PM # 1.0.0
