Far, Too Far Away

It is the thing I can’t forget, When last I saw her face— Is was porcelain, as if a doll, Her gown, it was of lace. Her hair was as the chestnut burr; Her lips were as Merlot— Her eyes were blue as sapphire, With a kind of sadness, though. I saw her last beneath the moon, Though she was far away— And yet I thought she would return, Having found her smile, and stay. And still I hear her footsteps, For my mind deceives me so— About the sill I hear her voice, Should the wind decide to blow. How sad it is, her leaving, Whether by the moon, or day— Since for all my make-believing... She is far, too far away!