How cold the wind do blow, dear love,
Cold are the drops of rain.
The very first love that ever I had
In the cold grave he is lain.
I'll do as much for my true love
As any young girl may,
I'll sit and mourn above his grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.
When twelve months and a day had gone
The ghost began to speak,
Why sit you here by my graveside
And will not let me sleep ?
O down in yonder green, sweetheart,
Where you and I did walk,
The fairest flower that blossomed there
Is withered to a stalk.
The stalk will bear no leaves, sweetheart,
The flower will never return,
And my true love is dead and gone,
And I do nought but mourn.
O don't you see the fire, sweetheart,
The fire that burns so blue,
Where my poor soul tormented is,
While I remain with you.
What is it that you want of me
And will not let me sleep ?
Your salten tears they trickle down
And wet my winding sheet.
There's one thing more I want, sweetheart,
There's one thing more I crave,
I want one kiss of your lily-white lips
And I'll go from your grave.
My cheek is cold as the clay, sweetheart,
My breath is earthy strong,
And if you kiss my lily-white lips
Your days will not be long.
Mourn not for me, my dearest dear,
Mourn not for me, I crave,
I must leave you and all the world,
And turn into my grave.
Now I have mourned upon his grave
A twelve-month and a day,
I'll set my sail before the wind
To waft me far away.