COLD BLOWS THE WIND.

Cold blows the wind to-night, true love,
Cold are the drops of rain;
I never had but one sweetheart,
And in greenwood she lies slain.

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

The twelvemonth and a day was past,
The ghost began to speak.
Why weep you there upon my grave,
And will not let me sleep?

What is it that you want of me.
And will not let me sleep?
Your salten tears they trickle down
And wet my winding-sheet.

What dost thou want of me, true heart.
Of me what dost thou crave?
One only kiss from your lily-white lips,
Then I'll go from your grave.

My lips are cold as clay, sweetheart,
My breath smells earthy strong,
And if you kiss my lily-white lips
Your time will not be long.

Mv time be short, my time be long,
To-morrow or to-day,
May Christ in heaven have all my soul—
But I'll kiss your lips of clay.

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

NP

Having searched for this by both title, and distinctive line. This version appears not to be in the DT
This version is from:
"English Folk-Songs for Schools" (Curwen Edition 6051)
collected and arranged by S Baring Gould, M.A. and Cecil J. Sharp, B.A.

I'll drop a PM to Joe asking that this be added to the links for "The Unquiet Grave"