She, At his funeral is a great poem by Tomas Hardy

         

HEY bear him to his resting-place--
        In slow procession sweeping by;
        I follow at a stranger’s space;
        His kindred they, his sweetheart I.
        Unchanged my gown of garish dye,
        Though sable-sad is their attire;
        But they stand round with griefless eye,
        Whilst my regret consumes like fire!