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