I still count the days…
The wind doth blow today, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true-love,
And will not let you sleep.My breast it is as 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 ever 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 the trees
Are green and spring up again.
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