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What light through yonder breaking wave doth shine? A scene, methinks, too fair for mortal breath, A gentle swain and his beloved maid, Bound fast by love, beside the wine-dark sea.

He, with strong visage and a steadfast gaze, Doth cradle her, his treasure and his prize, And in his grasp, she finds her comforting. She, fair as morning, with her tresses wild, Leans close, her eyes adrift in paradise, Her very form a pledge of constancy.

They are as stars within this golden hour, Whose radiance doth outshine the fading sun, Where earth and heaven softly intertwine, And for this moment, all the world is still. A love so true, it makes the angels weep. Here, truly, is the balm for every sorrow.