Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
France: Vols. IX–X. 1876–79.
The Mirrors
By Anonymous
L
To the minstrel’s latest song;
’T is of Mary whom ye knew,
Flower that in our hamlet grew.
“Mary, O, how fair thou art!”
Happier other maidens are!
I am withering on the stem,
For I may not wed, like them.
When the apple’s tender cheek
Blushes with its rosy streak,
It is sought and gathered free;
But, if left upon the tree,
Soon ’t will perish and decay,
And, like me, will fade away!”
Wait but till a year be o’er.”
Thou wilt shed the fruitless tear.
Build a tomb, if I should die,
On it let three nosegays lie;
One must be of roses’ sheen,
And the rest of laurel green.
When two lovers pass that way
Tender grief their hearts shall move;
Each shall choose a flower, and say,
‘’T is her grave who died for love:
For around her shining hair
Was no marriage garland tied,
No bright mirrors, glittering there,
Bade us hail her as a bride!’
Place me not in hallowed ground:
Dig my grave beside the way,
Never priest a prayer shall say:
None the flower-strewn grave shall see
Of a wretch who died like me!”