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!