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