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Thomas Hardy - She At His Funeral
Work rating: Medium

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!
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