People are hitting all my favorites, and I'm revisiting them again with 
great pleasure. Here's one more.

And re Yeats and Hardy -- I guess Hardy did have more moral consistency 
-- he hated all mankind equally.


    Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave?

/Poem lyrics of Ah, Are You Digging On My Grave? by Thomas Hardy./ "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."

Jon Corelis wrote:
> The Ruined Maid
>
> by Thomas Hardy
>
>
> "O 'Melia, my dear, this does everything crown!
> Who could have supposed I should meet you in Town?
> And whence such fair garments, such prosperi-ty?"--
> "O didn't you know I'd been ruined?" said she.
>
> --"You left us in tatters, without shoes or socks,
> Tired of digging potatoes, and spudding up docks;
> And now you've gay bracelets and bright feathers three!"--
> "Yes: that's how we dress when we're ruined," said she.
>
> --"At home in the barton you said 'thee' and 'thou,'
> And 'thik oon,' and 'theäs oon,' and 't'other'; but now
> Your talking quite fits 'ee for high compa-ny!"--
> "Some polish is gained with one's ruin," said she.
>
> --"Your hands were like paws then, your face blue and bleak
> But now I'm bewitched by your delicate cheek,
> And your little gloves fit as on any la-dy!"--
> "We never do work when we're ruined," said she.
>
> --"You used to call home-life a hag-ridden dream,
> And you'd sigh, and you'd sock; but at present you seem
> To know not of megrims or melancho-ly!"--
> "True. One's pretty lively when ruined," said she.
>
> "--I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,
> And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!"--
> "My dear--a raw country girl, such as you be,
> Cannot quite expect that. You ain't ruined," said she.
>
>   

-- 
Tad Richards
http://www.opus40.org/tadrichards/
http://opusforty.blogspot.com/

The moral is this: in American verse,
The better you are, the pay is worse.
  --Corey Ford