|
He came from his palace grand |
|
He came to my cottage door |
|
His words were few but his looks |
|
Will linger for evermore |
|
The look in his sad dark eyes |
|
More tender than words could be |
|
But I was nothing to him |
|
And he was the world to me. |
|
There in her garden she stands |
|
All dressed in fine satin and lace |
|
Lady Mary so cold and so strange |
|
In her heart she could find no place. |
|
He knew I would be his bride |
|
With a kiss for a lifetime fee |
|
But I was nothing to him |
|
And he was the world to me. |
|
Now in his palace grand |
|
On a flower strewn bed he lies |
|
His beautiful lids are closed |
|
On his sad dark beautiful eyes |
|
And among the mourners who mourn |
|
Why should I a mourner be |
|
For I was nothing to him |
|
And he was the world to me. |
|
For I was nothing to him |
|
And he was the world to me. |
