Lured.

Cameron, Poet Alfred, Lord Tennyson, 1865

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?

Alfred, Lord Tennyson