In faire Verona, where we lay our scene,

 

In faire Verona, where we lay our scene,

A lady dwells, of virtues pure and keen, With kindness in her eyes, a gentle light, That doth eclipse the stars of darkest night.

Her honesty, like crystal, clear and bright, Doth pierce the veil of day with honest sight, No falsehoods pass her lips, but truth alone, A beacon in a world of shadows grown.

In thoughtfulness, she doth all hearts ensnare, With gentle wisdom woven through her care, Her mind, a garden rich with thoughtful bloom, Where every thought is nursed from mind's own womb.

A caring heart, with love for all to share, She offers comfort, free from all despair, Her touch, a balm to soothe the weary soul, Her presence, like the sun, doth make us whole.

Oh, she's the very essence of pure grace, In her, all noble traits do interlace, A woman such as this, so rare, so true, Is she whom bards like me would dream to woo.

Thus, in this world where virtues oft are rare, This lady stands, a paragon so fair, May all who seek such beauty in their quest, Find in her form, the ideal woman's best.