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.