Classic Poem

In your mind (now you will think me fanciful),
In its bright, breezeless, and clarified atmosphere,
Sit I and muse as in a sunlit garden,
Or like a god move blissful to and fro.

Never a day, glance I ever so narrowly,
—Love's sharp eyes scanning the garden's loveliness,—
Walking beneath its sun-translucent foliage,
Never, my love, found I a single weed.