The Unquiet Grave `The wind doth blow today, my love, And a few small drops of rain; I never had but one truelove, In cold grave she was lain. I`ll do as much for my truelove As any young man may; I`ll sit and mourn all at her grave For a twelvemonth, and a day.` The twelvemonth a day being up, The dead 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 smells 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 finest flower that ere was seen 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.`