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Cold blows the wind to my true love, And gently falls the rain. I never had but one true love, And in greenwood he lies slain. I’ll do as much for my true love As any a young girl may. I’ll sit and mourn all on his grave for twelve months and a day.





And when twelve months and a day had passed, The ghost did rise and speak, “Why do you sit all on my grave And will not let me sleep?” ‘Tis I, ’tis I, thine own true love, That sits all on your grave. I ask one kiss from your sweet lips and that is all that I crave.





My breast is cold as the clay; My breath is earthly strong. And if you kiss my cold, clay lips, Your days will not be long. How oft on yonder grave, Sweetheart where we were wont to walk—The fairest flower that I e’re saw has withered to a stalk.





When will we meet again, sweetheart? When will we meet again? When the autumn leaves that fall from the trees are green and spring up again

COMMENTS

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H3rEvilDaddy
22:43 Nov 01 2016

Horribly sad and beautiful.

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