Cold blows the wind to my true love,
And gently drops the rain.
I only have but one true love,
And in green wood he lies slain.
I'll do as much for my true love,
As any young girl may.
I'll sit and mourn all on his grave,
For twelve months and a day.
When twelve months and a day were past,
The ghost began to speak.
"Why sittest thou all on my grave.
And will not let me sleep?"
There is one thing that I want sweetheart,
There is one thing that I crave.
And that is a kiss from your lily-white lips,
Then I'll go from your grave.
"My lips they are as cold as clay.
My breath comes earthy strong.
And if you kiss my cold, clay lips;
Your days they won't be long.
Go fetch me water from the desert,
And blood from out of a stone.
Go fetch me milk from a fair maid's breast,
That young men never have known."
"T'was down in Cupid's garden,
Where you and I did walk.
The finest flower that e'er I saw,
Is withered to a stalk.
The stalk is withered and dried sweetheart,
So shall our hearts decay.
So make yourself content, my love,
'Til death calls you away."
When shall we meet again sweetheart?
When shall we meet again?
"When the oaken leaves that fall from the trees,
Are green and spring up again."