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. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 30 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI AMY WENTWORTH; FOR WILLIAM BRADFORD by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TELLING THE BEES by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER ON RECEIPT OF A RARE PIPE by W. H. B. |