O If Love Were Had For Asking, In The Markets Of The Town, Hardly A Lass Would Think To Wear A Fine Silken Gown: But Love Is Had By Grieving By Choosing And By Leaving, And There'S No One Now To Ask Me If Heavy Lies My Heart. O If Love Were Had For A Deep Wish In The Deadness Of The Night, There'D Be A Truce To Longing Between The Dusk And The Light: But Love Is Had For Sighing, For Living And For Dying, And There'S No One Now To Ask Me If Heavy Lies My Heart. O If Love Were Had For Taking Like Honey From The Hive, The Bees That Made The Tender Stuff Could Hardly Keep Alive: But Love It Is A Wounded Thing, A Tremor And A Smart, And There'S No One Left To Kiss Me Now Over My Heavy Heart.