|Cold blows the wind upon my true love
|Soft falls the gentle rain
|I never had but one true love
|And in Greenwood she lies slain
|I'd lose much for my true love
|As any young man may
|I'll sit and I'll mourn all on your grave
|For twelve months and a day
|When the twelfth month and a day had passed
|The ghost began to speak
|"Who is it that sits 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 of one kiss from your sweet lips
|And that is all that I crave"
|"My lips, they are as clay, my love
|My breath is earthy strong
|And if you should kiss my clay-cold lips
|Your time, 'twould not be long"
|"Look down in the yonder garden fair
|Love, where we used to walk
|The fairest flower that ever bloomed
|Has withered and too the stalk"
|"The stalk, it has withered and dried, my love
|So will our hearts decay
|So make yourself content, my love
|'Til death calls you away"