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the silent lips and comforting calm face I had no more; I took my place Still wondering, behind the slow sad coach that bore All of your beauty Death could rob from me, One amongst many men who followed thee.

‘Now comes an end of things,’ I said, and faced the light And saw the sun; there was not any night Although the sands of your sweet life had run. Even the little children, in their glee. Raced by the four slow steeds that carried thee.

The curious passer’s gaze I watched with jealous eyes Your coffin find, through its disguise Of living flowers, hid from their careless pity safe behind Those wooden walls; oh, safe, my dear, no one shall see. Or none remember save those who follow thee.