It nods and curtseys and recovers - When the wind blows above, The nettle on the graves of lovers - That hanged themselves for love. - The nettle nods, the wind blows over, - The man, he does not move, - The lover of the grave, the lover - That hanged himself for love...

Her strong enchantments failing
Her towers of fear in wreck,
Her limbecks dried of poisons
And the knife at her neck.

The Queen of air and darkness
Begins to shrill and cry,
'O young man. O my slayer,
To-morrow you shall die.'

O Queen of air and darkness,
I think 'tis truth you say,
And I shall die to-morrow;
But you will die to-day...

Is it right ? Or...