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Home  »  An American Anthology, 1787–1900  »  1479 The Wayside Virgin

Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Langdon ElwynMitchell

1479 The Wayside Virgin

I AM the Virgin; from this granite ledge

A hundred weary winters have I watched

The lonely road that wanders at my feet;

And many days I ’ve sat here, in my lap

A little heap of snow, and overheard

The dry, dead voices of sere, rustling leaves;

While scarce a beggar creaked across the way.

How very old I am! I have forgot

The day they fixed me here; and whence I came,

With crown of gold, and all my tarnished blue.

How green the grass is now, and all around

Blossoms the May; but it is cold in here,

Sunless and cold.—Now comes a little maid

To kneel among the asters at my feet;

What a sweet noise she makes, like murmurings

Of bees in June! I wonder what they say,

These rosy mortals, when they look at me?

I wonder why

They call me Mary and bow down to me?

Oh, I am weary of my painted box,—

Come, child,

And lay thy warm face on my wooden cheek,

That I may feel it glow as once of yore

It glowed when I, a cedar’s happy heart,

Felt the first sunshine of the early spring!