The lovers never cried as the distance grew, nor were they saddened by the lapping waves rising and falling between them. Time would wait, they knew, and love was immortal. He went on to that distant shore whose banks are whelmed in fog. There, across the mighty channel, he became only a half-imagined silhouette to her eyes. Still, their love, so strong, would not wan, and though all time must first spend itself, the eternity apart would only be a moment.
Lo, the billows of mist divide; see him there, standing like a distant statue, still waiting for his love.
Tale Told 