I never shall hear your voice again,
Your voice so gentle and low
But the thought of you, Jenny Allen,
Will go with me where I go.
Your sweet voice drowns the Atlantic wave
And the rush of the Alpine snow.

You were very fair, Jenny Allen,
Fair as a woodland rose;
Your heart was pure as an angel's heart,
Too good for earth and its woes,
And I loved you, Jenny Allen,
With a sorrowful love, God knows.

You loved me, Jenny Allen,
My sorrow made me wise;
And I read your heart, 'twas an easy task,
For within your clear blue eyes,
Your pure and innocent thoughts shone out
Like stars from the summer skies.

He had riches and fame with his seventy years
When he won you for his wife;
You were but a child, and poor, and tired,
Tired of toil and strife;
And you only thought of rest, poor dove,
When you sold your beautiful life.

Alas, for the hour I entered in
Your halls of lordly mirth;