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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