Page:Wessex poems and other verses (IA wessexpoemsother00hard).pdf/35



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!