The Unquiet Grave

The wind doth blow today, my love
A few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true love
In cold grave he is lain

I'd do as much for my true love
As any young girl may;
I'd sit and mourn all on his grave
For twelve month and a day

The twelve months and a day were up
A voice spoke from the deep
Oh who is this sits on my grave
And will not let me sleep?

T' is I, t'is I, thy own true love
That weeps upon on thy grave
Until I have one kiss from your clay-cold lips
No comfort will I have

My lips are cold as clay, my love
My breath is earthly strong;
And had you one kiss from my clay-cold lips
Your time would not be long:

Down in yonder garden green
Love, where we used to walk
The sweetest rose that ever bloomed
Is withered to the stalk

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

So make yourself content my love
Till death calls you away