The wind doth blow to-day, my love,
And a few small drops of rain.
I never had but one true love—
In the cold grave she was lain.
I 'll do as much for my true love
As any young man may,
I 'll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.
The twelvemonth and a day being up,
The dead began to speak: