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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.
