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The Unquiet Grave

No: 78; variant: 78[G]

  1. ‘Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart, Cold are the drops of rain; The first truelove that ever I had In the green wood he was slain.
  2. '’Twas down on the garden-green, sweetheart, Where you and I did walk; The fairest flower that in the garden grew Is witherd to a stalk.
  3. ‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweetheart, The flowers will neer return, And since my truelove is dead and gone, What can I do but mourn?’
  4. A twelvemonth and a day being gone, The spirit rose and spoke: . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
  5. ‘My body is clay-cold, sweetheart, My breath smells heavy and strong, And if you kiss my lily-white lips Your time will not be long.’