A Dream of Death Ernest John Moeran

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, wond'ring, 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