Rebecca Clarke — A Dream

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