A Dream of Death

I dreamed that one had died in a stange place
Near no accustomed hand;
And they had nailed the boards above her face
The peasants of that land,
And, wondering, 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,
The lady by the trees:
And gazed upon the mournful stars above,
And heard the mournful breeze.

William Butler Yeats