The wind it blows today my love
A few small drops of rain
I never had but one true love
In cold grave he was lain

I'd do as much for my true love
as any young girl may
I'd sit and mourn upon the grave
a twelve month and a day

A twelve month and a day my love,
A voice spoke from the deep,
Who is it sits and weeps upon my grave
and will not let me sleep?

'Tis I, 'tis I thine own true love
That weeps upon thy grave
Until I have one kiss from your cold lips
No comfort will I have

My lips are cold as clay, my love
My breath is earthly strong
And hand you one kiss from my cold lips,
Your time will not be long

Down in yonder garden green
Down where we used to walk
The sweetest flower that ever I saw
Is withered to a stalk

The stalk is withered dry, my love
So will our hearts decay
So make yourself content my love
Till death calls you away.

This is (more or less) the version I learnt by heart for my O-level english exam back in 1969-ish. There is a recording of it by the Ian Campbell Folk Group from around that time. Cheerful sort of song...