Rondel

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Rondel

I follow, tottering, in the funeral train

That bears my body to the welcoming grave.

As those I mourn not, that entomb the brave,

But smile as those that lay aside the vain;

To me it is a thing of poor disdain,

A clod I would not give a sigh to save!

I follow, careless, in the funeral train,

My outworn raiment to the cleansing grave.

I follow to the grave with growing pain⁠—

Then sudden cry: Let Earth take what she gave!

And turn in gladness from the yawning cave⁠—

Glad even for those whose tears yet flow amain:

They also follow, in their funeral train,

Outworn necessities to the welcoming grave!