In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
A lady of such grace and worth is found;
Her beauty rare, like none hath ever seen,
Within her eyes, a depth that knows no bound.

But woe is me, for love is not to be,
Her heart belongs to one of higher state;
In vain, I long to hold her close to me,
Yet cruel fate doth keep us separate.

Her voice as sweet as music to the ear,
A symphony that stirs the very soul;
But, oh, the chasm that doth keep us near,
Destroys my dreams, this love I can't control.

So in this verse, my admiration penned,
To honor her whom I can't call a friend.
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