I '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. II '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.' III 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?'— IV ''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.'— V '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. VI ''Tis down in yonder garden green, Love, where we used to walk, The finest flower that ere was seen Is wither'd to a stalk. VII 'The stalk is wither'd dry, my love, So will our hearts decay; So make yourself content, my love, Till God calls you away.'
This poem is in the public domain.