There once was a sweet tiny maiden,
A wee little woman of four,
Who scarce could reach up to the table,
Or open the nursery door;
And this poor little maid, she was crying--
Her dolly had such a fall!
Yes there on the ground he was lying--
Her darling, the best of them all.
This dolly had been a brave soldier,
With uniform, sabre, and all,
And worshipp'd a doll in the doll's-house,
That stood by the side of the wall.
She was only a poor tiny maiden,
A wee little woman of four,
And she sat with her heart nearly breaking,
With the doll in her lap on the floor.
And the poor, tiny, sorrowful maiden,
The wee little woman of four,
Now lies with her dead soldier dolly,
Asleep on the nursery floor.