Cold blows the winter's wind, true love,
And gently drops the rain,
I never had but one true love,
In greenwood she was lain.

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

When the twelvemonth and a day was past,
The corpse began to speak,
Oh, who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?

There is one thing that I want, sweetheart,
There is one thing that I crave,
And that is a kiss from your lily white lips,
Then I'll turn back from your grave.

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

Go fetch me water from a dungeon deep,
And blood from out a stone,
Go fetch me milk from a fair maid's breast,
That young man never had known.

How can I fetch water from a dungeon deep,
Or blood from out a stone,
How can I fetch milk from a fair maid's breast,
That young man never had known?

Oh, don't you see yon flame, sweetheart,
Yon flame that burns so blue,
Where my poor soul tormented lies,
While I bide here with you?

And if you were not my own true love,
As I know you well to be,
I would rent you up into pieces small,
As the leaves that fall from the tree.

'Twas down in yonder garden, love,
Where we both used to walk,
The finest flower that e'er I saw,
Lies withered to a stalk.

The stalk is withered and dry, sweetheart,
The flower will ne'er return,
And since I lost my own true love,
What can I do but mourn?

Mourn not for me my own true love,
Mourn not for me, I pray,
For I must leave you and all the world
And turn back to my grave.

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

This is a beautiful folk song about a young man mourning over the loss of his sweetheart until her ghost appears, telling him to stop for it won't allow her to find rest.

I think the message in this song is still poignant even today.