Since I didn’t have any interesting dreams last night (which, admittedly, is the risk that you take when you start an online dream journal), I decided that I would share a dream-themed poem from one of my favorite poets.
A Dream of Death
by William Butler Yeats
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.