Cold blows the wind to my [bad word] love and gently falls the rain.
I only had but one [bad word] love, and in green woods she lies slain.
I'll do as much for my [bad word] love as any young man may -
I'll sit and mourn along the grave for a twelve-month and a day.

When the twelve-month and a day was done, the ghost began to speak:
"Why sittest thou along my grave and will not let me sleep?"
There's one thing that I want, sweetheart, there's one thing that I crave,
And that is a kiss fron your lily-white lips. Then I'll go from your grave.

"My lips they are as cold as clay, my breath smells earthy strong,
And if you kiss my lily-white lips, your days they won't be long.
Go fetch me water from the desert, and blood from out of stone;
Go fetch me milk from a fair maid's breast that never a young man has known."

'Twas down in Cupid's Garden, where you and I would walk,
The fairest flower that ever I saw is withered to a stalk.
The stalk is withered and dry sweetheart, the flower will ne'er return,
And since I lost my one [bad word] love, what can I do but mourn?

When shall we meet again, sweetheart? When shall we meet again?
"Ere the oaken leaves that fall from the tree are green and spring up again."