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Sunday, 31 January 2016: The Unquiet Grave...

1/31/2016

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I've had this memorized for many years. It is an old poem or folk song thought to date from at least 1400 CE. The author is unknown. It's very romantic, vampiric, and spiritual. I find it very soothing at the same time and I wanted to share it.
Picture
"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.”

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    Author

    I'm a writer and I write strange, dark tales; my work has been described as "quiet horror" and I like the sound of that.
    Someone once complimented my writing, saying my second book Angels of the Seventh Dawn is "Sleek, sinister, and seductive."
    I've also been told I am a cross between Clive Barker and Anne Rice. A compliment, indeed.

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