In the sad and mournful Autumn with the falling of the leaf, 
Death, the reaper, claimed our loved one 
As the husbandman the sheaf, 
Cold and dark day we laid her 
'Neath the sighing  cypress tree, 

For though nothing to another, 
She was all the world to me. 
For tho' nothing to another, 
She was all the world to me. 

In the month of song and blossom, 
In the month when tender flowers 
Spring from earth's maternal bosom, 
Waked to life by gentle shows,

As I wandered close beside her 
'Neath the spreading greenwood tree, 
"Fair," I said, "and radiant maiden, 
You are all the world to me.” 
"Fair," I said, "and radiant maiden, 
You are all the world to me.”

Then the rare and bright-eyed maiden 
In the month of song and flowers, 
Rose-lipped and beauty laden, 
Curtained by the twilight hours, 

Gave her hand into my keeping 
'Neath the spreading green-wood tree, 
"And," she said with eyelids drooping, 
"You are all the world to me.”
"And," she said with eyelids drooping, 
"You are all the world to me.”

But there hovered near a spirit 
Darker than the bird of night, 
And it touched her dropping eyelids, 
Covered up her eyes of light, 

Then with careful hands we laid her 
'Neath the sighing cypress tree, 
And my heart with her is buried 
She was all the world to me. 
And my heart with her is buried 
She was all the world to me.