Black is the colour
of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some
roses fair
and the sweetest smile
and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground
whereon she stands
I love my love and well
she knows
I love the ground
whereon she goes
I wish the day soon
would come
When she and
I will be as one
I go to the Clyde
and mourn and weep
But satisfied I never shall be
I'll write her a letter
just a few short lines
and suffer death
a thousand times
Black is the colour
of my true love's hair
Her lips are like some
roses fair
and the sweetest smile
and the gentlest hands
And I love the ground
whereon she stands