How should I your true love know
From another one?
By his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon.
*****
He is dead and gone, lady,
He is dead and gone,
At his head a grass-green turf,
At his heels a stone.
*****
White his shroud as the mountain snow—
Larded all with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the ground did go
With true-love showers.
*****
Lord, we know what we are, but know not what we may be.
*****
Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day,
All in the morning betime,
And I a maid at your window,
To be your Valentine.
Then up he rose and donned his clo’es
And dupp’d the chamber door;
Let in the maid, that out a maid
Never departed more.
Quoth she, “Before you tumbled me,
You promised me to wed.”
“So would I ha' done, by yonder sun,
An thou hadst not come to my bed.”
We must be patient; but I cannot choose but weep, 
to think they should lay him i’ the cold ground.
*****
They bore him barefac’d on the bier,
Hey no nonny, nonny, hey nonny.
And on his grave rain’d many a tear,
Down, a-down, an you call him a-down-a.
*****
His beard was as white as snow,
All flaxen was his poll.
He is gone, he is gone,
And we cast away moan,
God ha' mercy on his soul!
*****
There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance…
And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts…
There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets, 
but they withered all when my father died.