From the Courtship Collections--The Call
Poor wisp of life, upon the billows whisper
A love assailed by storms of uncertainty and defeat.
Across what cruel seas of hope we flee,
My heart and yours alone to steer the course!
My pen is dull, my sword of little force
Our dreams lie open to the winds beat
As out from Love's harbor we pursue
Fleeting with our love, our charm, our hearts true.
Let the night be ours
Let heaven be our seat.
Till the break of day
When we must be gone, away.
How vain the joys our past has sent,
How wrong the love our heart has pent.
But here friendship lies as love springs forth
Bountiful, happy days-left for us-once more!
Seek nor part,
brave the tempest's ire,
Our fated course, this day,
My love, your love, our heart's desire.
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