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, 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, This lady by the trees: And gazed upon the mournful stars above, And heard the mournful breeze.