Fernando Pessoa

Far away, far away,
Far away from here…
There is no worry after joy
Or away from fear
Far away from here.

Her lips were not very red,
Not her hair quite gold.
Her hands played with rings.
She did not let me hold
Her hands playing with gold.

She is something past,
Far away from pain.
Joy can touch her not, nor hope
Enter her domain,
Neither love in vain.

Perhaps at some day beyond
Shadows and light
She will think of me and make
All me a delight
All away from sight.

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