The sorrow of true love is a great sorrow
And true love parting blackens a bright tomorrow:
Yet it is almost joy, since their despair
Is but hope blinded by tears, and clear
Above the storm the heavens wait to be seen.
But greater sorrow from less love has never been,
And to mistake lack of despair for hope is
But a penitent fault. Far from certain,
No one knows the tempest, and summer’s
Perfect scope, but a frozen drizzle of constant
Drops that from remorse and pity fall
And cannot ever shine in the sun or thaw,
Removed eternally from the sun’s law.
On that day our love will shine.