Come o'er the sea, Maiden with me, Mine through the sunshine, storms and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes.

Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish; Earth has no sorrow that Heaven cannot heal.

Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal.

Go where we may, rest where we will, Eternal London haunts us still.

Come o'er the sea, Maiden with me, Mine through the sunshine, storms and snows; Seasons may roll, But the true soul Burns the same, where'er it goes.

Love doesn't demand perfection, but it does ask you to give yourself with less reserve than you'd prefer.

This wretched brain gave way, and I became a wreck at random driven, without one glimpse of reason or heaven.