MEANTIME
Far away, far away,
There is no worry after joy
Far away from here . . .
There is no worry after joy
Or away from fear
Far away from here.
Her lips were not very red,
Her hands played with rings.
Nor her hair quite gold.
Her hands played with rings.
She did not let me hold
Her hands playing with gold.
She is somewhere past,
Joy can touch her not, nor hope
Far away from pain.
Joy can touch her not, nor hope
Enter her domain,
Neither love in vain.
Perhaps at some day beyond
She will think of me and make
Shadows and light
She will think of me and make
All me a delight,
All away from sight.
Fernando Pessoa.