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Lady Mary
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1
He came from his palace grand;
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He came to my cottage door;
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His words were few, but his look
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Will linger for evermore,
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The look in his sad, dark eyes,
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More tender than words could be.
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But I was nothing to him,
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And he was the world to me.
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There in her garden she stands,
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All dressed in fine satin and lace,
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Lady Mary, so cold and so strange;
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In his heart she could find no place.
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He knew I would be his bride,
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With a kiss for a lifetime fee.
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But I was nothing to him,
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And he was the world to me.
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Now in his palace grand,
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On a flower-strewn bed he lies.
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His beautiful lids are closed
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On his sad, dark, beautiful eyes.
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And among the mourners who mourn,
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Why should I a mourner be?
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For I was nothing to him,
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And he was the world to me.
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For I was nothing to him,
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And he was the world to me.
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