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 drear

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 fain to bring,

Continually together murmuring,)—

⁠"Woe's me for thee, unhappy Proserpine!"