Parnell's funeral became one of the biggest ceremonies for a poet in the United States — though it seems its grand nature was more because of her family's activism than for her poetry specifically. Actually, that ceremony was her second funeral; her first was much more low-key, and held at the home of her mother in New Jersey. After her brother had successfully blocked the repatriation of her body, he celebrated by throwing his sister a second funeral before her internment at Mount Auburn Cemetery in Massachusetts.
The procession stopped in Philadelphia, New York, and Boston (at some points, the coffin was opened for viewings). Her casket was transported on a hearse pulled by six white horses, attended by 18 pallbearers. Irish flags intertwined with American flags were part of the propaganda, Irish-born poet/editor/activist John Boyle O'Reilly wrote about the event in tear-jerking detail. Her own role in the Irish nationalist movement involved little more than organizing women's groups, until it manifested in her poetry in her last two years. At that point, O'Reilly noted, "Her lyre would only respond to one breeze — nationality" (elsewhere, O'Reilly had belittled her poetry). Her poem "Post-Mortem" (sometimes listed as "After Death"):
Shall mine eyes behold thy glory, O my country?
Shall mine eyes behold thy glory?
Or shall the darkness close around them, ere the sun-blaze
Break at last upon thy story?
When the nations ope for thee their queenly circle,
As a sweet new sister hail thee,
Shall these lips be sealed in callous death and silence
That have known but to bewail thee?
Shall the ear be deaf that only loved thy praises
When all men their tribute bring thee?
Shall the mouth be clay that sang thee in thy squalor
When all poets' mouths shall sing thee?
Ah! the harpings and the salvos and the shoutings
Of thy exiled sons returning
I should hear, though dead and mouldered, and the grave damps
Should not chill my bosom's burning.
Ah ! the tramp of feet victorious! I should hear them
'Mid the shamrocks and the mosses,
And my heart should toss within the shroud and quiver,
As a captive dreamer tosses.
I should turn and rend the cere clothes round me,
Giant-sinews I should borrow,
Crying, "O my brothers, I have also loved her,
In her lowliness and sorrow.
"Let me join with you the jubilant procession,
Let me chant with you her story;
Then contented I shall go back to the shamrocks,
Now mine eyes have seen her glory."