Lady Mary

He came from his palace grand;
He came to my cottage door;
His words were few, but his look
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 his 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.