My Love was a poor man's daughter,
And I was a poor man's son.
And oft we walked on the sea shore,
When the work of the day was done.
Hand in hand, on the gleaming strand,
And our two hearts beat as one.
My Love was meek, and gentle,
And she was wondrous fair;
With hazel dyes in her slumbrous eyes,
And chestnut shades in her hair.
And we raked hay on the meadow,
And I gave my heart in her care.
But the great, notched wheel of Fortune,
Kept turning on and on.
And she was a rich man's daughter,
And I was a poor man's son.
And she had a score of lovers, or more.
But I was the favored one.
And I passed hard by her window,
Nor turned my face to see
The lady fair, with gems in her hair,
As fine as fine could be.
Though I knew her heart was dying
For just one word from me.
My Love grew pale as the lily,
And faded day by day,
And I passed by, and heard her sigh,
And turned my face away.
For I was proud as the proudest—
And her gold between us lay.
And the great, notched wheel of Fortune
Kept rolling on and on.
And she was a poor man's daughter,
And I was a rich man's son.
And maids of grace smiled in my face,
But I saw only one.
I found my love in the cottage,
Where first I sought her side.
And I shall not tell how I wooed—but well,
For she had not my pride.
And I gave my heart in her keeping,
And won her for my bride.
1870