LOVE IN HER COLD GRAVE LIES

Love in her cold grave lies,

But that is not my love:

My love hath constant eyes,

My love her life doth prove;

That love, the poorer, dies —

Ah, that is not my love!

Love in her cold grave lies,

But she will wake again;

With trembling feet will rise,

Will call this love in vain,

That she doth now despise

Ah, love shall wake again!