The Unquiet Grave (Extended Ballad)

Cold blows the wind to my true love, And gently drops the rain; I never had but one sweetheart, And in the greenwood she was slain. I’ll do as much for my true love As any young man may; I’ll sit and mourn all at her grave For a twelve-month and a day. The twelve-month and a day being up, The d**d began to speak: “Oh, who sits weeping on my grave, And will not let me sleep?” ’Tis I, my love, sits 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 is earthy strong; If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips, Your time will not be long. ’Tis down in yonder garden green, Love, where we used to walk, The fairest 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 God calls you away. 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 hath lain. A year and day have I mourned thee, A year and day or more; I cannot rest from calling thee, My heart is brent full sore. Go fetch me water from the well, Go pluck me leaves of balm; For though my body be full cold, My soul shall keep thee warm. If thou hadst kept thy solemn troth, As I kept mine to thee, My bones would not be white with chalk, Nor drowned beneath the tree. There is no rest for love like ours, No peace below the moon; Go home, go home, and leave me now— Our parting comes too soon. The worm has fed upon my cheek, The mould upon my breast; My eyes are dim, my voice is faint, My heart hath no more rest. So weep no more upon my grave, Nor call me from the deep; I pray thee leave my bones alone, And let my spirit sleep. For if thou lov’st me as thou say’st, Then turn thy steps away; For love that binds the living d**d Brings death before the day.