The wind does blow today, my love, A few small drops of rain; Never had I had but one true-love, In cold grave she is lain. I'll do as much for my true-love, As any young man may; I'll sit and mourn all on her grave A twelvemonth and a day. The twelvemonth and a day being gone, A voice spoke from the deep 'Who is it sits all on my grave, And will not let me sleep? 'Tis I, tis I, thine own true-love Who sits upon your grave; For I crave one kiss from your sweet lips, And that is all I seek. You crave one kiss from my clay-cold lips; But my breath is earthly strong; Had you one kiss from my clay-cold lips, Your time would not be long. My time be low, my time be short Tomorrow or today; May God in heaven have all my soal But I'll kiss your lips of clay. "See down in yonder garden green, Love, where we used to walk, The sweetest flower that ever grew Is withered to a stalk. The stalk is withered dry, my love, So will our hearts decay; So make yourself content, my love, Till d**h calls you away.