Cold blows the wind to my [bad word] love
And gently drops the rain
I never had but one sweetheart
And in greenwood she lies lain.

I'll do as much for my sweetheart
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn all on her grave
For twelvemonth and a day

And when twelvemonth and one day was past,
The ghost began to speak
"Why sittest here all on 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 from your lilly-white lips
Then I'll go from your grave."

"My breast is as cold as clay,
My breath smells earthly strong
And if you kiss my cold clay lips,
Your days they won't be long 

Go fetch me water from the desert
And blood from out of a stone
Go fetch me milk from a fair maid's breast
That a young man never had known"

"O down on yonder grove, sweetheart
Where you and I would walk 
The first flower that ever I saw
Is withered to a stalk

The stalk is wither'd and dry, sweetheart
And the flower will never return;
And since I lost my own sweetheart
What can I do but mourn?

When shall we meet again, sweetheart
When shall we meet again?"
"When the oaken leaves that fall from the trees
Are green and spring up again