SHE, AT HIS FUNERAL
by: Thomas Hardy (1840-1928)
 HEY 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!
|
"She, At His Funeral"
is reprinted from Wessex Poems and Other Verses. Thomas
Hardy. New York: Harper, 1898. |
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POEMS BY THOMAS HARDY |
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