Far away is the light that above this wall
It barely refracts, it escorts a brief instant
From the river palace to the upper door.
Far away those flowers of Enna, O dark shore,
From your fatal fruit which is now hard for me. br/>Far from me I feel; and every day dreaming,
I seek and search, and remain a listener;
And some heart says to some soul,
(The sound of which reaches me from time to time,
Continuously together sighing,)-
"Alas for you, unhappy Proserpina!"
"Afar away the light that brings cold cheer
Unto this wall, one instant and no more
Admitted at my distant palace-door.
Afar the flowers of Enna from this dream
Dire fruit, which, tasted once, must thrall me here.
Afar those skies from this Tartarean grey
That chills me: and afar, how far away,
The nights that shall be from the days that were.
Afar from mine own self I seem, and wing
Strange ways in thought, and listen for a sign;
And still some heart unto some soul doth pine,
(Whose sounds mine inner sense is faith to bring,
Continually together murmuring,)-
"Woe's me for you, unhappy Proserpine!"

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