Being little girl I've heard a tale
About the love, about the fail.
My mother told to make me sleep
But even now I still believe.

He was a prince, his love was great,
She wasn't a queen, she was a made,
The divine eyes and pretty face,
But all her fortune: love and grace.

The tale about the pour love,
All tops and clouds it was above,
His father was a niggard man
And on this love he put a ban.

The niggard father said them "No".
She's gone away, it was ago.
But even now it may be so
If love is weak and strong is "no"