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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? |