O Love, where is the bed we made
Arthur O'Shaughnessy
1844 to 1881
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!
Arthur O'Shaughnessy's O Love, where is the bed we made
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