But a fire's in my heart and a fire's in my brain,
When she waltzes away with Sir Phelim O'Shane;
I don't think I ever can ask her again:
Where is she gone, where is she gone?
And, lord! since the summer she's grown very plain,
And I—am left all alone!
She said that she liked me a twelvemonth ago!
Where is she gone, where is she gone?
And how should I guess that she'd torture me so!
And I—am left all alone!