Classic Poem

1.

O Love, where is the bed we made
In scented wood-ways for sweet sin?
The sun was with us and the shade;
The warm blue covered us in:

All men their curse on us had laid —
Finding had slain us both therein;
But, summer with us, not afraid
Were we to love and sin.

O Love, the crushed place is quite fair;
Leaves have sprung back and flowers grown there;
The blithe trees no long record bore;
The flown bird knoweth no more;

The hard one never found our lair; —
We are not slain, Love, — we are fair,
And love, ay, as we loved before:
— Let us go back once more!

2.

Would I might go far over sea,
My Love, or high above the air,
And come to land or heaven with thee,
Where no law is and none shall be
Against beholding the most rare
Strange beauty that thou hast for me.

Alas, for, in this bitter land,
Full many a written curse doth stand
Against the kiss thy lips should bear;
Against the sweet gift of thy hand;
Against the knowing that thou art fair,
And too fond loving of thy hair!