Classic Poem

My body resting in a haunt of mine,
I ranged among alternate memories;
What while an unseen noble lady's eyes
Were fixed upon me, yet she gave no sign;
To stay and go she sweetly did incline,
Always afraid lest there were any spies;
Then reached to me,—and smelt it in sweet wise,
And reached to me—some sprig of bloom or bine.
Conscious of perfume, on my side I leant,
And rose upon my feet, and gazed around
To see the plant whose flower could so beguile.
Finding it not, I sought it by the scent;
And by the scent, in truth, the plant I found,
And rested in its shadow a great while.