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.

Added: on September 24th, 2005 at 5:57 PM | Viewed: 2723 times | Comments (1)

Poet: William Butler Yeats
Poem: A Dream Of Death
Volume: The Rose
Year: Published/Written in 1893
Poem of the Day on:
Dec 7 2007

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