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.

-- William Butler Yeats

An alternate version of this poem (also by Yeats) replaces the last four lines with:

'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.

Which totally changes the tone, as far as I'm concerned. Interesting...

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.