A Dream Of Death
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:
She
was
more
beautiful
than
thy
first
love,
But
now
lies
under
boards.
