“Teach me to live, that I may dreadThe grave as little as my bed.Teach me to die…”

“Ah, are you digging on my grave,My 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 someone 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 to 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.”

“I was court-martialed in my absence, and sentenced to death in my absence, so I said they could shoot me in my absence.”

“O, you have torn my life all to pieces... made me be what I prayed you in pity not to make me be again!”

“How I have tried and tried to be a splendid woman, and how destiny has been against me! ...I do not deserve my lot! ...O, the cruelty of putting me into this ill-conceived world! I was capable of much; but I have been injured and blighted and crushed by things beyond my control! O, how hard it is of Heaven to devise such tortures for me, who have done no harm to heaven at all!”

“You overrate my capacity of love. I don't posess half the warmth of nature you believe me to have. An unprotected childhood in a cold world has beaten gentleness out of me.”

“I went, and knelt, and scooped my handAs if to drink, into the brook,And a faint figure seemed to standAbove me, with the bygone look.”