WHEN first the maiden fair I eyed,
—This world is a world of grief alone—
A lily she held and a rose beside
But I was doomed her lot to moan.

The rose was gain's and the lily was stain'd,
—This world is a world of grief alone—
And from that hour her beauty waned,
And I was left her lot to moan.

The lily was stain'd when the rose was gain'd,
—This world is a world of grief alone—
And from that hour her life star waned,
And I was left her lot to moan.

Ah, never more in my sight she'll stand
—This world is a world of grief alone—
With a lily bright in her lily-white hand,
And I am doomed her lot to moan.