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
moundA
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.-- William Butler Yeats