The Unquiet Grave

My breast is cold as clay
My breath is earthly strong
And if you kiss my cold clay lips
Your days they won't be long

How oft on yonder grave, sweetheart
Where we were want to walk
The fairest flower that earlier I saw
Has withered to a stalk

When will we meet again, sweetheart?
When will we meet again?
When the autumn leaves that fall from trees
Are green and spring up again