Sitting on a little hill in a meadow full of flowers
Listening to the whippoorwill passing by the hours.
I'm dreaming, just a little dream,
Of princesses and towers and how my charming prince
Would stride softly through the flowers.
He would take my hand, hold it tightly in his own,
Bowing low,
Then hand in hand we would dance beneath the moon.
The breeze would play a minuet
Through the trees and the flowers,
The hills would be the outline of our stately castle spires.
The last notes slowly wane and the grass is wet with dew.
The time has come again to bid my prince adieu.
As the sun is stretching out each delicate golden ray
My dream becomes like morning mist
And tip-toes away.