He came from his palace grand,
He came to my cottage door.
His words were few but his looks
Will linger for ever more.
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
Who finds in his heart 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.
And now in his palace grand
on a flower strewn bed he lies.
His beautiful lids are closed
O'er his beautiful sad dark eyes
And among the mourners who mourn,
Why should I a mourner be?
When I was nothing to him
And he was the world to me.
