"Ah, are you digging on my grave, <br /> My loved one? -- planting rue?" <br />-- "No: yesterday he went to wed <br />One of the brightest wealth has bred. <br />'It cannot hurt her now,' he said, <br /> 'That I should not be true.'" <br /> <br />"Then who is digging on my grave, <br /> My nearest dearest kin?" <br />-- "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use! <br />What good will planting flowers produce? <br />No tendance of her mound can loose <br /> Her spirit from Death's gin.'" <br /> <br />"But someone digs upon my grave? <br /> My enemy? -- prodding sly?" <br />-- "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate <br />That shuts on all flesh soon or late, <br />She thought you no more worth her hate, <br /> And cares not where you lie. <br /> <br />"Then, who is digging on my grave? <br /> Say -- since I have not guessed!" <br />-- "O it is I, my mistress dear, <br />Your little dog , who still lives near, <br />And much I hope my movements here <br /> Have not disturbed your rest?" <br /> <br />"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave... <br /> Why flashed it not to me <br />That one true heart was left behind! <br />What feeling do we ever find <br />To equal among human kind <br /> A dog's fidelity!" <br /> <br />"Mistress, I dug upon your grave <br /> To bury a bone, in case <br />I should be hungry near this spot <br />When passing on my daily trot. <br />I am sorry, but I quite forgot <br /> It was your resting place."<br /><br />Thomas Hardy<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ah-are-you-digging-on-my-grave/
