William Butler Yeats
I DREAMED that one
had died in a strange place
Near no accustomed hand,
And they had nailed
the boards above her face,
The peasants of that land,
Wondering to lay her
in that solitude,
And raised above her mound
A cross they had made out of
two bits of wood,
And planted cypress round;
And left her to the
indifferent stars above
Until I carved these words:
i{She was more
beautiful than thy first love,}
i{But now lies under boards.}
