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
And, wond'ring, planted by her solitude
A cypress and a yew
I came, and wrote upon a cross of wood
Man had no more to do
"She was more beautiful than thy first love
This lady by the trees."
And gazed upon the mournful stars above
And heard the mournful breeze