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 she was lain.

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

The twelvemonth 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 earthly strong;    
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,    
Your time will not be long.

"Tis down in younder 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.