Sweet Mary the first time she ever was there
came to the bal room among the fair
The young men and maidens around her throngue
and these are the words upon every tongue :
"An angel is here from the heavenly climes
or again does return the golden times !"
Her eyes outshined every brilliant ray,
she opens her lips, 'tis the month of may...
Mary moves in soft beauty and conscious delight
(to augment with) sweet smiles all the joys of the night :
nor one blushes to own to the rest of the fair,
that sweet love and beauty are worthy our care.
In the morning, the villagers, arose with delight
and repeated with pleasure all the joys of the night
and mary arose among friends to be free...

Some said she was proud, some called her a whore,
some, when she passed by, shut the door...
A damped cold came over her,
her blushes all fled, her lillies,
her roses are blighted and shed !

Why was i born with a different face ?
Why was i not born like this envious race ?
Why did heaven adorn me with bountyfull hands
and then set me dawn in an envious land ?
...to be weak as lamb, smooth as a dove
and not to raise envy is called christian love...

I will humble my beauty, i will not dress fine,
i will keep from the bal and my eyes shall not shine,
and if any girl's lover forsakes her for me :
i will refuse him my hand and from envy be free...

She went out in the morning, attired plain and neat;
"Poor mary's gone mad" said the child in the street.
She trembled and she wept, sitting on the bed side
she forgot it was night, she trembled and she cried.
She forgot it was night, she forgot it was morn
- soft memory imprinted with faces of scorn.
With faces of scorn and with eyes of disdain,
like fool friends inhabiting mary's mild brain !
She remembers no face from the human divine :
all faces have envy sweet mary but thine.

And thine is a face of sweet love and despair,
and thine a face of mild sorrow and care,
and thine is a face of white terror and fear,
that shall never be quiet 'till laid on its bier !!