The Unquiet Grave

Cold blows the wind to my true love and gently drops the rain I only had but one true love and in greenwood she lies slain I'll do as much for my true love as any young man may I'll sit and mourn along her grave for a twelve-month and a day When the

I am stretched on your grave, and you'll find me There always, If I had bounty of your arms I Should never leave you. Little apple, my Beloved, it is time for me to lay with you, There Is the cold smell of clay on me, the tan of the Sun and the wind.