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!