Explore "She at his Funeral" by Thomas Hardy on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
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!