Nicole Hurley-Moore

Hello everyone,
                          So today I thought that I would share one of my favourite medieval ballads. I discovered it when I was thirteen and it has been rolling around in my mind ever since.

The Unquiet Grave

'The wind doth blow today, my love,

And a few small drops of rain;

I never had but one true-love;

In 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:

'Oh who sits weeping at my grave,

And will not let me sleep?'

''Tis I, my love, sits on your grave,

And will not let you sleep;

For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,

And that is all I seek.'

'You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips;

But my breath smells earthy strong;

If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,

Your time will not be long.'

''Tis down in yonder garden green,

Love, where we used to walk,

The finest flower that ere was seen

Is withered to a stalk.'

'The stalk is withered dry, my love,

So will our hearts decay;

So make yourself content, my love,

Till God calls you away.'

                                                            Anon.

Nicole