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!