Classic Poem

1

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 with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the grave did go
 With true-love showers.

2

And will he not come again?
And will he not come again?
 No, no, he is dead:
 Go to thy death-bed:
He never will come again.