Far, Too Far Away
It is the thing I can’t forget,
When last I saw her face—
Is was porcelain, as if a doll,
Her gown, it was of lace.
Her hair was as the chestnut burr;
Her lips were as Merlot—
Her eyes were blue as sapphire,
With a kind of sadness, though.
I saw her last beneath the moon,
Though she was far away—
And yet I thought she would return,
Having found her smile, and stay.
And still I hear her footsteps,
For my mind deceives me so—
About the sill I hear her voice,
Should the wind decide to blow.
How sad it is, her leaving,
Whether by the moon, or day—
Since for all my make-believing...
She is far, too far away!
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