Classic Poem

For any save a lover,
Your smile might have a meaning;
But naught will he discover
Who doats to rend the screening.
I see, nor crave it franker,
Nor claim the glassed emotion,
A smile that rides at anchor
Upon the smoothest ocean.

Is luring there, & treason?
And wreck when tempest rages?
I make it my glad season,
And more do not the sages.
Then flowerful glow the garden,
The orchard-promise fruity!
Though I be not their warden,
For me is all the beauty.