Classic Poem

I wander through thy garden,
Where art thou, dearest, where?
The butterflies flit lonely
Along the gay parterre.

Yet with what dædal fulness
Thy beds their blossoms shew!
With what sweet perfumes laden
The Zephyrs round me blow!

I feel thy gladdening presence
Fill all these solitudes,
As o'er all worlds created
The Great Unseen One broods.