"My breast is cold as clay,
My breath is earthly strong,
And if you kiss my cold clay lips,
You days they won't be long."
How oft on yonder grave, sweetheart,
Where we were want to walk,
The fairest flower that e'er I saw
Has withered to a stalk.
The stalk is witherd and dry, sweetheart,
And the flower will never return
And since I lost my own sweetheart,
What can I do but mourn?
"When will we meet again, sweetheart,
When will we meet again?"
"When the autumn leaves that fall from the trees
Are green and spring up again."
