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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 her 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 Over his 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 And how will it be with our souls When we meet in that spirit land What the human heart ne'er knows Will the spirit then understand Or in some celestial form Will our sorrows repeated be Will I still be nothing to him Though he is the world to me |
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Digital Tradition Mudcat Discussion Cafe Discussion Group |