No one is there to see her fall apart;

By Fortune’s designs bound to reign alone,

She cries for gentle hands to hold her heart

A woman independent from the start,

With outer shell of smooth and polished stone,

No one is there to see her fall apart

Her countenance sanguine by practiced art

(The court cannot a morose queen condone)

She cries for gentle hands to hold her heart

By day, in character, she plays the part;

By eve, the sun retires, the act is done—

No one is there to see her fall apart

In darkness she roams the forlorn rampart,   

The wind absorbs a low and subtle moan;  

She cries for gentle hands to hold her heart

Albeit struck by Cupid’s silent dart,

Unrequited love can ne’er be shown 

No one is there to see her fall apart

She cries for gentle hands to hold her heart