So oft stars crossed
Prevent such course,
As a poet and a muse betrothed,

So on this fair eve,
With the falling leaves,
The rarest gift these hearts receive,

So tragedy oh rest this night
For woe has already graced this day,
And the sonnets of sadness sang their plight,
When the arms of home seemed far away,

For we are born from one true heart,
The beginning and the end,
And in death we do not part,
We only meet again…

For this one heart was born as two,
That nectar may know a tongue,
That love’s reflection might shine more true,
Than when we were alone as one,

So let the silver quill fill the pages,
Of the days of this tale of life,
For a lifetime of love shall fill the ages,
When the muse is beheld as the poet’s wife…

For we are born from one true heart,
The beginning and the end,
And in death we do not part,
We only meet again…
Oh now the longing has called us home,
And all these woeful days we mend,
‘Tis the longing that calls back together,
Old lovers who meet again and again,

For we are born from one true heart,
The beginning and the end,
And in death we do not part,
We only meet again…