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 made out of two bits of wood

and planted cypress round

and left her to the indifferent stars above

until I craved these words:

she was more beautiful than thy first love

but now lies under boards