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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 upon her grave
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, sit 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.

'down in yonder garden gay,
love, where we used to walk,
the sweetest flower that I ever saw
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.'