The Unquiet Grave

The wind doth blow today, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true love,
In cold grave was she lain.

I'll do as much for my true love
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn at all her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.

The twelve month and a day being up,
The dead began to speak
'Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?

'Tis I, my love, sits on your grave,
And will not let you sleep,
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
And that is all I seek.'

'You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
But my breath smells earthy strong;
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long.

'Tis down in yonder garden green,
Love, where we used to walk,
The finest flower, that ere was seen
Is withered to a stalk.

The stalk is withered dry, my love,
So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God calls you away.'