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! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OCTAVES: 12 by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON BALLADE MADE FOR HIS MOTHER THAT SHE MIGHTE PRAYE by FRANCOIS VILLON THE MYSTIC'S VISION by MATHILDE BLIND THE RETIREMENT; TO MR. IZAAK WALTON by CHARLES COTTON SONNET: 35 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SETTLER: AMERICA IN THE MAKING by ALFRED BILLINGS STREET |