di Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)

What sight so lured him thro' the fields he knew
As where earth's green stole into heaven's own hue,
Far - far - away?

What sound was dearest in his native dells?
The mellow lin-lan-lone of evening bells
Far - far - away?

What vague world whisper, mystic pain or joy,
Thro' those three words would haunt him when a boy,
Far - far - away?
A whisper from his dawn of life? A breath
>From some fair dawn beyond the doors of death
Far - far - away?
Far, far, how far? From o'er the gates of birth,
The faint horizons, all the bounds of earth,
Far - far - away?

What charm in words, a charm no words could give?
O dying words, can Music make you live
Far - far - away?