"Ah, are you digging on my grave,
My loved one? — planting rue?"
— "No: yesterday he went to wed
One of the brightest wealth has bred.
'It cannot hurt her now,' he said,
'That I should not be true.'"
"Then who is digging on my grave,
My nearest dearest kin?"
— "Ah, no: they sit and think, 'What use!
What good will planting flowers produce?
No tendance of her mound can loose
Her spirit from Death's gin.'"
"But someone digs upon my grave?
My enemy? — prodding sly?"
— "Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate
That shuts on all flesh soon or late,
She thought you no more worth her hate,
And cares not where you lie.
"Then, who is digging on my grave?
Say — since I have not guessed!"
— "O it is I, my mistress dear,
Your little dog , who still lives near,
And much I hope my movements here
Have not disturbed your rest?"
"Ah yes! You dig upon my grave…
Why flashed it not to me
That one true heart was left behind!
What feeling do we ever find
To equal among human kind
A dog's fidelity!"
"Mistress, I dug upon your grave
To bury a bone, in case
I should be hungry near this spot
When passing on my daily trot.
I am sorry, but I quite forgot
It was your resting place."
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
-
In A Childs Point Of View
From guest x_d0p3biish_x (contact)
When I Got This Poem I Thought Wow My Teacher Is Some Sort Of Crazy Woman Because This Was Supposed To Be tp-casted By Me But Once I Read This It Made Me Think Of My Grandpa And I Hadn't Thought About Him In A While It Seems The Whole Family Has Just Moved On......Not Even Looking At His Ashes That Lie On A Mantle In My Mothers Room Not Thinking About Him At All My Grandmother Who Has Foregotten About Him The Most Moving From Man to Man but Her Drone Excuse Is The Drugs That She Uses In My Mind Im Thinking Thats How She Drowns Out Her Love For Him......But How Do I Do It..Maybe My Love Was Never His I Did Not Cry Over His Death Maybe I Didnt Care This Poem Opened Up My Mind -
I just love the title, sort of like who's that knocking at my door with graver implications, or maybe not.
-
Brilliant
This poem is so true of life. My mother always used to say, "We mourn the dead, but how many would we welcome back?" For the sad truth is that life goes on after you die, but not for you - for those you left behind. New life, new ties are forged and you become but a memory.
At first, I did hope that the little dog was like Greyfriar's Bobby, who slept on old Jock's grave for many, many years. Oh, but no, the grave was but a place of soft earth to old one more bone. One that was loved far more than those that lay beneath it. -
food for thought
-
Very Nice
One of the best poems I have read so far, the Audio version of the poem can be found on the following site;
http://librivox.org/short-poetry-collection-013/ -
seems so bitingly true our fondest feelings given and received in unconditional love, might only be to the animal beings who seem to want only that from us...well and an occasional snack... enjoyed...PK
-
One of the most wonderful and meaningful poems I have ever read for Thomas Hardy. The truth it holds is screaming in the eye of the reader, speaking loud and true.
-
Ol' faithful friends - don't ya love 'em? Very interesting write - and very truthful - how we are so soon forgotten after we're gone.
-
Ouch! Ha ha ha ha!
While we're still alive, we often take for granted other people's kindness and only when we lose our ground will we discover what we have really done ... nothing and no one cares. -
It expresses so much about Hardy, his writing, and of course about how the dead are forgotten. The end is bitter irony, that even the most devoted forget us...But that is also our strength, that we can forget, heal, I suppose it is callous but maybe necessary. Of course his poem is too cynical, but sometimes that's what we feel and want to write or read, thoughts less logical, more emotional.
-
Kind of a nice & fitting comment on mankind's vanity, don't you think?
-
quiet strong,sad
-
This is humorous and sad at the same time. The fidelity we receive and expect during our life seems here to be forgotten by all at our death, even by our most faithful friend, our pet, at least according to Hardy.
-
A Bitter Reality
The poem is in narrative form. Thomas Hardy, a novelist, a short story writer and a very fine poet has categorically described the value of worldly love after death. Somewhat the same concept that W.B.Yeats has given in his very beautiful poem 'For Anne Gregory' and through personal experiences one has to agree with him.
"I heard an old religious man
But yesternight declare
That he had found a text to prove
That only God, my dear,
Could love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair."
(Yeats)
Adding your comment:
1 - 13 of 13
