Cold blows the wind to my [bad word] love 
And gently drops the rain
I only had but one [bad word] love
And in greenwood she lies slain

I'll do as much for my [bad word] love
As any young man may
I'll sit and mourn along her grave
For a twelve-month and a day

When the twelve months and one day was past
The ghost began to speak:
"Why sit thou'st here 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 from 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 cold clay 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 a young man never had known"

'Twas down in Cupid's Garden 
Where you and I would walk
The finest 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 trees
Are green and spring up again"