No titanic kiss, no picture-perfect surge,
No sweeping off, no frantic, tidal rise,
As fantasy and cinema would urge,
The instant he peers deep, deep in her eyes.
Love is not blind, though many have been blind
Who thought they loved, but learnt it was not so;
For love is patient, open-eyed and kind,
It sees the stars, past clouds and wind and snow.
Love is the heavenly vault, the starry dome
Enclosing all, the power driving round
The planets; unwavering, safely guiding home
The sailor, sick for his familiar ground;
The dauntless, faithful hand upon the helm,
When seas and storms seem most to overwhelm.
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