“Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?”
“AH, are you digging on my graveMy loved one?—planting rue?”—“No: yesterday he went to wedOne 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 looseHer spirit from Death’s gin.’”
“But some one digs upon my grave?My enemy?—prodding sly?”—“Nay: when she heard you had passed the GateThat 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 hereHave not disturbed your rest?”
“Ah, yes! You dig upon my grave . . .Why flashed it not on meThat one true heart was left behind!What feeling do we ever findTo equal among human kindA dog’s fidelity!”
“Mistress, I dug upon your graveTo bury a bone, in caseI should be hungry near this spotWhen passing on my daily trot.I am sorry, but I quite forgotIt was your resting-place.”
Words in this poem
- went n.
- Course; way; path; journey; direction.
- wealth n.
- Weal; welfare; prosperity; good. [OE. welthe, from wele; cf. D. weelde luxury. See Weal prosperity.]
- tendance n.
- The act of attending or waiting; attendance. [See Tend to attend, and cf. Attendance.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
“Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?” is in the public domain. This text is taken from Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries, with Miscellaneous Pieces, Project Gutenberg ebook #2863; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Thomas Hardy, “Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?”, in Satires of Circumstance, Lyrics and Reveries (1914), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #2863, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hardy-satires/ah-are-you-digging-on-my-grave.html, id L24018.
Form and metre
“Ah, Are You Digging on My Grave?” is 36 lines in 6 stanzas of 6 lines each. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%).
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -ABBBA grave · rueA · wedB · bredB · saidB · trueA
- 2 -ABBBA grave · kinA · useB · produceB · looseB · ginA
- 3 -ABBBA grave · slyA · gateB · lateB · hateB · lieA
- 4 -ABBBA grave · guessedA · dearB · nearB · hereB · restA
- 5 --AAA- grave · me · behindA · findA · kindA · fidelity
- 6 -ABBBA grave · caseA · spotB · trotB · forgotB · placeA
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| “AH, are you digging on my grave | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| My loved one?—planting rue?” | 6 | ···/˘· |
| —“No: yesterday he went to wed | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| One of the brightest wealth has bred. | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| ‘It cannot hurt her now,’ he said, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| ‘That I should not be true.’” | 6 | ······ |
| “Then who is digging on my grave? | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| My nearest dearest kin?” | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| —“Ah, no; they sit and think, ‘What use! | 8 | ········ |
| What good will planting flowers produce? | 8 | ···/˘/˘/ |
| No tendance of her mound can loose | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Her spirit from Death’s gin.’” | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| “But some one digs upon my grave? | 8 | ········ |
| My enemy?—prodding sly?” | 7 | ·/˘˘/˘· |
| —“Nay: when she heard you had passed the Gate | 9 | ········· |
| That shuts on all flesh soon or late, | 8 | ········ |
| She thought you no more worth her hate, | 8 | ········ |
| And cares not where you lie.” | 6 | ······ |
| “Then, who is digging on my grave? | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Say—since I have not guessed!” | 6 | ······ |
| —“O it is I, my mistress dear, | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Your little dog, who still lives near, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And much I hope my movements here | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Have not disturbed your rest?” | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| “Ah, yes! You dig upon my grave . . . | 8 | ········ |
| Why flashed it not on me | 6 | ······ |
| That one true heart was left behind! | 8 | ········ |
| What feeling do we ever find | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| To equal among human kind | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| A dog’s fidelity!” | 6 | ··˘/˘˘ |
| “Mistress, I dug upon your grave | 8 | /˘······ |
| To bury a bone, in case | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| I should be hungry near this spot | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| When passing on my daily trot. | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| I am sorry, but I quite forgot | 9 | ··/˘···˘/ |
| It was your resting-place.” | 6 | ···/˘· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.