Читать книгу The Complete Works - William Butler Yeats - Страница 98

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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,

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.