Oh, he was a lord of high degreeshe was a lass from the low countree And she was a lass from the low countree But she loved his lordship so tenderly. Oh sorrow, sing sorrow Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod And no one knows she loved him but herself and God One morn when the sun was on the mead He passed by her door on a milk white steed She smiled and she spoke, but he paid no heed Oh sorrow, sing sorrow Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod And no one knows she loved him but herself and God If you be a lass from the low countree Don't love of no lord of high degree They haint got a heart for sympathy Oh sorrow, sing sorrow Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild flowers nod And no one knows she loved him but herself and God
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