| Cold blows the wind upon my true love |
| Soft falls the gentle rain |
| I never had but one true love |
| And in Greenwood she lies slain |
| I'd lose much for my true love |
| As any young man may |
| I'll sit and I'll mourn all on your grave |
| For twelve months and a day |
| When the twelfth month and a day had passed |
| The ghost began to speak |
| "Who is it that sits all on my grave |
| And will not let me sleep?" |
| "'Tis I, 'tis I, thine own true love |
| That sits all on your grave |
| I ask of one kiss from your sweet lips |
| And that is all that I crave" |
| "My lips, they are as clay, my love |
| My breath is earthy strong |
| And if you should kiss my clay-cold lips |
| Your time, 'twould not be long" |
| "Look down in the yonder garden fair |
| Love, where we used to walk |
| The fairest flower that ever bloomed |
| Has withered and too the stalk" |
| "The stalk, it has withered and dried, my love |
| So will our hearts decay |
| So make yourself content, my love |
| 'Til death calls you away" |