Classic Poem

I'm only a Gargoyle attached to a church,
As ugly a Gargoyle as ever was known;
I lean from my Gothic, aerial perch
To gaze on that glorious vision in stone,—

The fair Caryatid just over the street
Enthroned on a pillar of porphyry red,
So mild of demeanor, so patient and sweet,
Though seventeen stories are heaped on her head!

I envy the wind that may speak to my love,
The raindrop that plashes her cheek like a tear,
The cobweb that covers her hand like a glove,
The sparrow that builds in the curve of her ear.

I would I might woo her with passionate rhymes:
But here is my duty, and here must I stay
To guard the high steeple's reverberant chimes
And frighten all frolicsome goblins away.