Black is the color of my true love's hair.
His lips are like some roses fair
He has the sweetest smile and the gentlest hands
I love the ground whereon he stands.
I love my love and well he knows,
I love the ground whereon he goes,
And I wish the day it soon will come
That he and I will be as one.
I'll go to the Clyde and I'll mourn and weep,
For satisfied I'll ne'er sleep.
I'll write him a letter, just a few short lines,
I'll suffer death ten thousand times.