| 1 |
'Cold blows the wind to-day, sweetheart,
Cold are the drops of rain;
The first truelove that ever I had
In the green wood he was slain. |
| 2 |
''Twas down on the garden-green, sweetheart,
Where you and I did walk;
The fairest flower that in the garden grew
Is witherd to a stalk. |
| 3 |
'The stalk will bear no leaves, sweetheart,
The flowers will neer return,
And since my truelove is dead and gone,
What can I do but mourn?' |
| 4 |
A twelvemonth and a day being gone,
The spirit rose and spoke:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . . |
| 5 |
'My body is clay-cold, sweetheart,
My breath smells heavy and strong,
And if you kiss my lily-white lips
Your time will not be long.' |
