Classic Poem

Let it not be, love, underneath a roof,
Closed in with furniture and four walls round;
But we will find a place wild, far aloof,
Our room the woods, our bed the sweet-smelled ground.

There at the soft foot of some friendly tree
With grass and leaves and flowers we will lie
Where all is wide and beautiful and free—
Free as when love first loved beneath the sky.

No lock or curtain need we in the shade
And silence of the forest's inmost fold:
And none save us shall know where we are laid
Or guess what nuptial day those woodlands hold.

There fitly may we bring our loves to greet
That ancient love, more old than wind or sod;
Fitly where beasts and flowers wed shall meet
Our lips, our limbs, beneath the look of God.