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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 on 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 wither'd to a stalk.  

'The stalk is wither'd dry, my love,
  So will our hearts decay;  
So make yourself content, my love,  
  Till God calls you away.'

This poem is in the public domain.

This poem is in the public domain.


by this poet

To every thing there is a season,
and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn,
The man cut his throat and left his head there.
The others went to get it.
When they got there they put the head in a sack.
Farther on the head fell out onto the ground.
They put the head back in the sack.
Farther on the head fell out again.
Around the first sack they put a second one that 
   was thicker.
O Insewn God--born from Zeus' thigh--
   some folk say in Drakanon,
some in windy Ikaros,
   others say in Naxos,
or by the deep-eddying river Alpheos,
pregnant Semele bore you to thunder-loving Zeus.
Others say you were born in Thebes, Lord,
but all of them lie:
   the father of men and gods gave birth to you