Love Sonnet Xxxv

I cannot find a fault in you; and yet I think you are not perfect many ways. I have seen lips more meet for maiden praise And eyes less shadowed with a grey regret. But pure perfection of your love has let The tenant mirrors of my mind such rays, All other men reflect a smoky haze And in the murk their virtues I forget. He knows not perfect who has found the best, Nor worth who would deny unworthiness. But meanest flowers are fair as any rose When blowing fragrant to our least behest. So you are perfect in my heart no less For that unworthiness my poor mind knows.