... meantime

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.

Fernando Pessoa, Meantime