An epitaph

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.