Scribd
Upload
791 views

The Unquiet Grave

The speaker mourns the death of their true love, sitting at her grave for a year and a day. When the dead lover speaks, the speaker begs for a kiss from her cold lips. The dead warns that if he kisses her, his time will not be long, as their love has withered like a flower. She tells him to make peace until God calls him away as well.

Uploaded by

NiStsa Emank VhIeo
Copyright
© Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
791 views

The Unquiet Grave

The speaker mourns the death of their true love, sitting at her grave for a year and a day. When the dead lover speaks, the speaker begs for a kiss from her cold lips. The dead warns that if he kisses her, his time will not be long, as their love has withered like a flower. She tells him to make peace until God calls him away as well.

Uploaded by

NiStsa Emank VhIeo
Copyright
© Attribution Non-Commercial (BY-NC)
We take content rights seriously. If you suspect this is your content, claim it here.
Available Formats
Download as DOCX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
You are on page 1/ 2

The Unquiet Grave

by Anonymous 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 on my grave, And will not let me sleep?

T is 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.

T is down in yonder garden green, Love, where we used to walk, The finest flower that e re 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.

You might also like