Poems (Mary Coleridge)/Poem 37

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XXXVII BURIAL
How, was it I—I that unmoved
 Stood tearless in the funeral train,
When it was you, you that I loved,
 Whose earth was given to earth again?

The highest heavens are holy ground,
 The song of birds—the dawn—the gloom.
In every perfect sight and sound
 I bow, fair love, before thy tomb.

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