Here lies a Virgin, and as sweet As ere was wrapt in winding sheet. Her name if next you wo'd have knowne, The Marble speaks it Mary Stone: Who dying in her blooming yeares, This Stone, for names sake, melts to teares. If fragrant Virgins you'l but keep A Fast, while Jets and Marbles weep, And praying, strew some Roses on her, You'l do my Neice abundant honour. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON SELF-COMMUNING by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE SHEPHERD by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |