"The wind doth blow today, my love,
With a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true love,
And she in the cold grave has lain."
I'll do as much for my true love
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn all on her grave
For a twelve month and a day."
The twelve months and a day being up,
The dead began to speak,
"Oh who is this sits on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?"
"It is I, my love, sits on your grave
And will not let you sleep,
I crave one kiss from your cold, sweet lips
And that is all I seek."
"You crave one kiss from my clay-cold lips,
My breath smells earthly strong;
If you had one kiss from my cold clay lips
Your time will not be long:"
"Down in yonder's garden green,
Love, where we used to walk,
The fairest flower that ever bloomed
Is withered to a stalk."
"The stalk is withered dry, my love,
So must our hearts decay;
So make yourself content my love,
Till God calls you away."